


Battle scars

by Sardonicpineapple



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Mycroft, Female Sherlock Holmes/Male John Watson, Friends to Lovers, Love, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicide Attempt, World War I, alternative universe, soldier John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2019-09-05 06:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 30,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16805632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sardonicpineapple/pseuds/Sardonicpineapple
Summary: Sherlock and John meet as children (Sherlock 5, John 10), and become fast friends. Sherlock has always had affections for John that grow to full blown love. The age gap as always been an issue, so she keeps quiet. 1914 brings war, and takes John with it. Sherlock doesn’t see him till he comes home four years later, when she’s all grown up.





	1. PART 1                                      The Watsons

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this is an alternative universe story, starting in 1907, and ending somewhere in the 1920s. Slightly out of character, as they would have behaved differently in the 1900s. (Sherlock is still as cheeky as ever though.) No underage, fyi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John meet for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy!

Sherlock age: 5   
John age 9 

21st of January 1907

Sherlock had been sat in her play room all morning, leaving a few times, only to be ushered back in because she was getting under people’s feet. Her father had left for work, her mother was busy baking a pie for the new neighbours, and her older sister was no doubt holed up in her room. The age gap was substantial, meaning the pair didn’t have anything in common, other than their nature. Both were very clever, and blunt, but it was slightly more palatable on the wiry teenager than it was on the curly haired child. Sherlock had a habit of freaking out her peers, and there for spent a lot of time alone. The older of the two was much the same, but she rather enjoyed the solitude, unlike Sherlock, who was alone by default.  
“Sherlock, your mother requests your presence in the kitchen.”  
Her nanny, Mrs Hudson appeared at the playroom door, and held out her hand for Sherlock to go with her. She liked Mrs Hudson, so she was happy to oblige, and followed her into the kitchen. Mrs Holmes was bent over by the oven taking a pie out, which she then placed on a counter she knew Sherlock couldn’t reach.  
“Hello, darling. Would you like to come across with me to meet the neighbours?”  
“Not really.” Replied Sherlock, who was eyeing up the pie.  
“Ok, that was more of a request. I would like you to come with me.”  
Mrs Holmes had blonde hair that was pinned up in a bun, and the same bright blue eyes as Sherlock, which were staring up at her in annoyance.  
“Sherlock, if you go with your mother, I’ll play chess with you.” Mrs Hudson said, crouching down to be eye level with the small child.  
“Fine, but if you break your promise, I’ll be very disappointed.” Sherlock mumbled, trying to push her curly, black mane behind her ears.  
“Must do something about your hair. Martha, could you sought her out? Maybe put her in a nice frock?” Mrs Holmes said, her eyes drawn to her daughter’s curls which had already sprung up again.  
“Of course Mrs Holmes.”  
“Thank you.”  
Sherlock sat as still as she could as Mrs Hudson combed her hair into two pigtails, which tamed it for the most part.  
“Can I wear the yellow dress?” Sherlock asked, slipping out of the chair whilst Mrs Hudson got more hair ties.  
“Which one, dear?”  
Mrs Hudson frowned when she saw the small child had got out of the chair, and was trying to open the wardrobe.  
“This one.” Sherlock said, having successfully opened the wardrobe, and was tugging at a lemon yellow dress.  
“Oh, that one’s lovely. You must wear a cardigan though, it’s cold out.”  
Mrs Hudson helped Sherlock to get the dress down, then gently slipped it over her head.  
“Oh, don’t you look pretty.”  
Sherlock turned to look at herself in the mirror, tilting her head, and turning around to see her reflection from all angles.  
“Beauty is subjective.” Sherlock stated as she pulled up her socks.  
“Well, as long as you think you’re beautiful, it doesn’t matter.”  
Sherlock smiled, and happily allowed Mrs Hudson to kiss her temple.  
“Come on then. Can’t leave your mummy waiting.” 

Mrs Holmes had changed into a floral dress and red jacket, and already had her hat on, and the pie in a tin. She extended her hand to Sherlock, who took it somewhat begrudgingly. She was nearly six, and more than capable of walking down the street without holding her mum’s hand.  
“You look lovely.”  
“I know.”  
Mrs Holmes chuckled at her daughter’s confidence, and gently squeezed her hand. They existed their grounds, and walked down the avenue to the house next door, Sherlock occasionally running ahead before being called back. They finally reached the door, and a house keeper came to greet them.  
“Hello, I’m Anne Holmes, I live next door. I thought I’d come by to welcome the Watsons to the neighbourhood.”  
“Oh, how lovely. Mrs Watson is out in the garden if you’d like to come through.”  
“Lovely.”  
“I can put that in the kitchen for you.”  
The housekeeper, a young woman, maybe in her early 20s, took the pie, and placed it on top of the arguer before leading  
Mrs Holmes and Sherlock out into the garden, where a blonde woman was sat in a swing seat.  
“Mrs Watson, this is Anne Holmes, she lives next door.”  
Mrs Watson got up from her chair, and made her way over to the pair.  
“Oh, Mrs Holmes, how lovely to finally meet you.”  
“Likewise, And Please, call me Anne.”  
“Well, then, please call me Kate.”  
Both women shared a smile, before Kate’s attention went to the little girl who had begun tugging at a loss thread on her dress.  
“Who’s this?” Mrs Watson asked, bending down to greet Sherlock.  
“This is Sherlock, my daughter. Say hello, darling.”  
“Hello.”  
“And how old are you?”  
“I’m five and a half.” Sherlock said, her attention splitting between Mrs Watson and their surroundings.  
There was a swing set at the end of the garden, a sword, a model train, and two pairs of wellington boots outside the shed.  
Sherlock guessed an older girl, and a boy not much older than herself.  
“My John is nearly ten now. Shame you’re not closer in age.”  
“Oh, that is a shame.” Mrs Holmes said, placing a hand between Sherlock’s shoulder blades, and tracing little circles on her skin, a method she’d used for years to sooth the eccentric child.  
“Do you have any other children?”  
“Yes, I have a daughter, Harriet. She’ll be 14 in the summer.”  
“Oh, Sherlock’s big sister, Mycroft is 13. Perhaps they would get along.”  
“Perhaps. We ought to arrange something for them.”  
“You’re more than welcome to come over for afternoon tea tomorrow.”  
“Oh, that would be lovely.” Mrs Watson said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Speaking of tea, I must invite you in for some. I’ll have Lillie put the kettle on.”  
Mrs Holmes and Sherlock followed Mrs Watson back into the house.  
“Lillie, could you pop the kettle on, then fetch the children? Thank you.”  
They entered the sitting room, which was a large room with photographs and portraits decorating the walls and shelves, a few statues on the mantle piece, and three vases of flowers. Sherlock was intrigued by the photographs, and went over to look at each of them. She was particularly drawn to a picture of a blonde boy, maybe six years old, with a big grin, showing where he’d lost one of his front teeth.  
“That’s my John. He’s about your age there.” Mrs Watson said, smiling down at the photo.  
All three of them turned towards the door when they heard two pairs of footsteps. A young girl with braided, blonde hair entered the room first, closely followed by a boy who bore a close resemblance to her, except from his startling, grey eyes.  
“Anne, these are my children, John, and Harriet. Children, this is Mrs Holmes, and Sherlock. They live next door.”  
They all shared greetings, except Sherlock, who was opposed to meeting new people, as she’d stated many times.  
“Lovely to meet you.”  
“And you, Mrs Holmes.” Harriet said, flashing a toothy grin that showed off her pearly whites.  
John smiled from behind Harriet before turning his attention to Sherlock who was sat between her mother’s legs on the floor. He waved at her, which made Sherlock grin, and hide her face behind her mothers leg. Lillie came back into the room a few minutes later with a tray with five plates, and three cups of tea. After they’d finished their tea, Anne and Sherlock said their goodbyes, and went home, where Sherlock played her promised game of chess which Mrs Hudson.


	2. Teatime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and his family come over for tea, and he breaks the ice with the curly haired girl.

Sherlock age: 5   
John age 9 

22nd of January 1907

It was quarter to four, and each second felt like a minute, and each minute felt like an hour. That’s how the whole day had gone for Sherlock in anticipation of having tea with John and his family. The doorbell finally rang, and Mrs Hudson went to open it while Sherlock watched from the top of the stairs. She focused on John, who was wearing a white shirt tucked into a pair of grey shorts along with a pair of knee socks which weren’t even. Sherlock wondered if she should tell him.  
“Mycroft, sherlock! Come down please!” Their mother called from the hallway.  
Sherlock raced down the stairs, and bounded into the parlour.  
“Hello, Sherlock.”  
Kate smiled kindly at the bouncy child who had settled herself on the ottoman by the fireplace.  
“Hello.”  
“Where’s your sister?” Anne asked, taking a seat opposite Kate.  
Sherlock shrugged as she fidgeted around on the ottoman before finally settling. After a moment, they heard a pair of footsteps and a girl entered the room.  
She was tall, and thin, with sandy brown hair in braids resting on her narrow shoulders. Sherlock quickly glanced over at the wiry teen before looking over to the Watsons. All three of them were blonde, Johns was more of an ashy blonde, but regardless, all of them bore a close resemblance. Sherlock and Mycroft could not have looked more different, the only thing they shared being their neuroticism and piercing, blue eyes.  
“Kate, this is my daughter, Mycroft.”  
“Ah, Mrs Watson. How lovely to make your acquaintance.” Mycroft said, the corners of her mouth tugging into her signature, smug grin.  
“These are her children, Harriet and John. Harriet is about your age, so perhaps you’d make friends.”  
“Age is not necessarily a factor in the art of making friends, besides I neither want, nor need friends, so your logic is moot.” The teen stated matter of factually, folding her hands behind her back.  
“Mycroft.”  
Her mother shot her a warning look before gesturing to the spot beside her on the sofa. She sat down next to her mother, her back so impossibly straight she didn’t quite look human, instead presenting more like a statue. Harriet seemed rather uncomfortable, her gaze shifting from her mother to the taller girl across from her. A moment later, Mrs Hudson showed up with a tray of tea and biscuits.  
“Ooo, gingernuts!” Sherlock squealed, making a beeline for the plate of golden treats.  
“Sherlock, manners. Guests first, dear.” Her mother kindly reminded.  
Sherlock frowned, and shoved the biscuit in her mouth anyway. Tea was poured for the mothers and the two older girls, whereas John and Sherlock had lemonade. Sherlock had zoned out contemplating what would happen if she set up a system of pulleys in Mycroft’s room that would smack her awake with mechanical hands that she hadn’t noticed the gingernuts slowly disappearing. By the time she’d snapped back to reality they’d all been eaten. She grumbled in annoyance, looking down at the plate. She crossed her arms, folded herself up on the chair, and buried her head in between her knees. Everyone else was too caught up in conversation to notice, even Mycroft, who had begun talking at Harriet about the different currencies in various countries, but John noticed. He got up, and walked over to the sulking brunette, who looked up upon noticing his presence. He presented her with the gingernut biscuit he’d been holding on to for the past few minutes.  
“Here.”  
She looked up at him with her baby blues, then down at the biscuit, and back again a few times before taking it from him.  
“Thank you.” She said quietly.  
John smiled, and turned back to sit with his mum. Sherlock watched him as she munched at the biscuit, focusing on his smile, and the little dimples that formed in his cheeks. They left about an hour later with promises of dinner some time next week. Sherlock was excited, but she knew the hours would feel like days, and the days would feel like weeks.


	3. Chess and checkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a snippet of Sherlock and John’s friendship.

Sherlock age 5  
John age: 10

9th of February 1907

“We shouldn’t be too long. Maybe two hours.”  
Anne and Kate were off to a charity ball with Mr Holmes and Mr Watson respectively, and all four children had been left with Mrs Hudson. Mycroft actually tolerated Harriet, because she had some interesting views on politics which the brunette was more than happy to discuss. John as it turns out was jolly good at chess, and gave Sherlock a run for her money, even though each game ended with a stalemate.  
“Alright, lets do something else.” John said after having chased Sherlock’s king round the board for 10 minutes.  
“What do you want to do?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Children! Supper!” Mrs Hudson called from the kitchen.  
“Well, I guess what we do doesn’t matter now.” John shrugged, and made his way to the kitchen, Sherlock following close behind.  
At the table, Sherlock and John had been throwing peas at each other trying to catch them in their mouths. Harriet had found it amusing, where as Mycroft spent the entire time with her eyes rolled.  
“Oh, do stop that children.” Mrs Hudson exclaimed, her hands on her hips.  
The younger two were sent to the play room with hot chocolate and biscuits, and the older two went upstairs.  
“Do you want to play checkers?” John asked.  
“Alright.”  
Sherlock used a chair to get the game down off the top of a cabinet. One second she was reaching for the game, and the next she was on the floor.  
“Sherlock! Are you alright?” John asked, hurrying over to the young girl.  
“I’m alright.” She whimpered, rubbing her knee where a dark bruise was already forming.  
“That’s a nasty bruise.”  
“You’re telling me.” Sherlock quipped. “My mummy always kisses it better so it doesn’t hurt so much.”  
“I can give it a shot. Probably won’t be as good though.”  
Sherlock titled her head in contemplation before shuffling closer to John. He bent his head, and gently placed a kiss on the bruise. Sherlock felt a blush spread to her cheeks, and quickly ducked her head.  
“Thank you, John. I feel a bit better.”  
John gave her a shy smile, his cheeks also turning red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, it’s sweet, not creepy.


	4. The ‘fence’ that divides us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strain is put on John and Sherlock’s friendship when the former goes to secondary school, and their age difference really starts to show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update because they were both so short. Enjoy! Loving the comments, they really make my day. Shit, that makes me sound really sad... wait I’m on AO3, we’re all a bit sad. ;)

Sherlock age: 8  
John age: 12

11th of October 1909

A few years went by like this, Mycroft and Harriet having a heated discussion in a corner somewhere, and Sherlock and John going to each other’s house between a hole in the fence to play board games. But that all changed when John went to secondary school. He didn’t have as much time for the curly haired girl as he used to. He was allowed out on his own where as Mrs Hudson would have to escort Sherlock. John was allowed to stay up much longer than Sherlock, and spent those hours with Mycroft and Harriet. Their interests also became more varied, John had become interested in girls whereas Sherlock pretty much only ever wanted to play board games. Sherlock hadn’t seen John for a few weeks, until she went to deliver some jam from their peach tree and he answered.  
“Oh, Sherlock. Hello.”  
He didn’t seem displeased to see her, more surprised.  
“Hello, John. My mother made this for your family.”  
“Oh, thank you. Do you want to come in?”  
“Alright.” She said after a moment, and followed him into the house.  
“So, What have you been up to?”  
“I started playing the violin.”  
“Oh, that cool. You’ll have to play me a tune sometime.” John grinned at her, little dimples in his cheeks appearing.  
“I also lost another tooth.” Sherlock said, indicating with her tongue the space where one of her canines had fallen out.  
“Did you get a coin from the tooth fairy?”  
“The tooth fairy isn’t real, John. Don’t be ridiculous.”  
John looked surprised at the attitude from the long legged girl.  
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you had childish beliefs.”  
Sherlock shrugged it off, and changed the subject.  
“What are you up to?”  
“Well, I started at secondary school.” John said slowly, knowing it was a sore spot with the younger child.  
“I know.” She said quietly.  
“I started playing rugby. I got a cut on my leg. I think it’ll turn into a cool scar.”  
Sherlock watched closely as John pulled down one of his socks to show her a scare about three inches long down his knee.  
“Why is it cool?”  
“Well, it’s like a battle scar.”  
“You got it from rugby. It’s a rugby scar.” Sherlock said flatly.  
“Yeah, yeah.”  
John rolled his eyes.  
“I’d better be going.”  
“Oh, sure. I’ll see you out.”  
John took her to the door where she reclaimed her coat.  
“Nice to see you.”  
“And you. I’ll try and come to see you at the weekend, ok?”  
“Alright.”  
Sherlock waved to the blonde boy as she wriggled through the gap in the fence that divided their houses. She wondered whether John really would come over at the weekend. She made sure they had chocolate bourbons. They were johns favourite.


	5. Lonliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock experiences some of her lonelier years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short filler chapter. If I’m feeling generous, I’ll post a second chapter. ;)

Sherlock age: 9  
John age: 13

3rd of November 1910

About a year later, Mycroft went to finishing school, leaving Sherlock without company most of the time. She was used to just being with her mother in her earlier years, as her father had a job in a bank and was often not home. But without the older Holmes daughter, the house was painfully quiet. Although there was no one around to insult her intelligence, she’d almost begun to miss the sharp featured girl.  
“Sherlock, darling. Johns here to see you.”  
John came over to play chess on the odd occasion he’d done his homework before Sherlock’s bedtime.  
“Hello, John.”  
“Hello, Sherlock.”  
John had a massive growth spurt over the summer, and had built up muscle from rugby. This made him look a lot older.  
“So, is Mycroft coming home for Christmas?”  
“Yes.”  
“I expect she’ll be even more of a prat then before.”  
Sherlock giggled at this. John was the only person who made her do that.  
John stayed for tea, then left through the hole in the fence.


	6. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holmes and Watsons spend Christmas together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy! Thank you for all the lovely comments!

Sherlock age: 9  
John age: 13

25th of December 1910

Christmas Day arrived just as it did every year with a blanket of snow, Christmas carols, and the smell of turkey. The Watsons were spending christmas with Sherlock’s family, leaving the table more crowded then usual. John and Sherlock shrieked with laughter at the terrible Christmas cracker jokes, the adults were taking full advantage of the fact that it was socially acceptable to drink at three o’clock, and everyone was wearing a crown. Even Mycroft. Present opening time came round. Presents from parents and siblings had happened that morning, and John was proudly showing off a scrap book he’d got from Harriet. Harriet and John received jumpers from Mr and Mrs Holmes, and Mycroft and Sherlock were gifted books on exotic plants with flowers pressing kits from Mr and Mrs Watson. Sherlock and John sat together as they opened their presents from each other. Johns face lit up as he opened the little box that revealed a pocket watch.  
“Thank you so much, Sherlock. I love it.” Sherlock’s cheeks turned pink, and she hid her head in her curls. She turned her attention to the neatly wrapped package in her lap. A beautiful telescope with ornate patterns swirling up and down the length. Sherlock was in awe. Before she could really think about what she was doing, she had leapt forward, and wrapped her arms around John. He was surprised to say the least, but allowed his arms to wrap around the narrow girl, and hug her back.  
“Thank you so much.”  
No one had ever got her something so thoughtful. It truly touched her heart.


	7. Tea strainers are ment to have holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes away for the holidays, and when he returns, there’s a Young lady waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The age gap isn’t too noticeable because you know... Sherlock’s a genius.

Sherlock age: 11  
John age: 15

27th of August 1912

John had been away traveling around Wales and Scotland for the entire summer, which left Sherlock plenty of time for her chemistry experiments. She’d also taken up interest in scrap booking, and had kept track of the things she’d done that summer. She doubted it was as interesting as johns. The only real thing that had happened to her was a huge growth spurt, and she’d started to develop curves. That was hardly something worth telling John. Mycroft had been at home, causing her usual nonsense. The peculiar child had turned into a rather beautiful young lady, having grown into her sharp features. She now wore cream lace gloves, a hat, and carried an umbrella when she went out. The corset she wore beneath her blouse hardly had any effect on her immaculate posture, and her high heals only made her seem more frightening. It was often a concern of Mrs Holmes that she would never find husbands for her daughters. Sherlock would put them off with her lack of a filter, and Mycroft would scare them away.  
“I hear from Harry that she and John are to be returning today.” She pointed, eyeing Sherlock over her tea cup.  
“Yes I know.”  
“You haven’t mentioned him much. Is all well?”  
“Yes.” Sherlock replied tersely. “He’s just busy with school.”  
“You’ll be joining him shortly. I’m sure it’ll be different then. For starters, you’ll have less time to notice his absence.”  
The dark haired girl inhaled sharply, her attention drifting down to the book in her lap.  
“Anyway, are you going to see him?”  
“Of course. I was testing the burning rates of different biscuits to record their fat content. I’d like to hear his thoughts.”  
“Yes, well, l I’m sure he’ll be more thrilled than mother was.” Mycroft muttered as she eyed her younger sister. “Especially when you set fire to her lace doilies.”  
Sherlock chewed the inside of her lip, remembering her mother frantically running around the kitchen before banishing her to the parlour.  
“Still better than that time you tried to keep a badger as a pet.”  
“True. Wasn’t that bad till he bit Father.”  
“There are so few opportunities in which that sentence is valid.” Mycroft mused as she took her empty tea cup out to the kitchen. 

John came home that afternoon. Sherlock spotted him out the window, and after waiting the two hours her mother instructed be left for them to settle down, she ran out to knock for him. She hadn’t gone through the hole in the fence for a good few months, and hadn’t taken into account her new shape. Then young girl found herself struggling to slip through, the new additions to her chest getting in the way. It had always been a small gap, and John had failed to fit through for years, but it was still a great surprise to Sherlock. In her distress, she’d managed to catch her blouse on a bramble behind her, and was now well and truly stuck. John had spotted the struggling preteen, and run out to help her.  
“Bloody hell, Sherl, you sure do know how to welcome a chap home.”  
John strode over to her, and detached her from the bramble. She tumbled out of the fence, and into his arms.  
“Sorry, John.” She said, quickly pulling back.  
Although she had never had the largest amount of grace to her, she still had some dignity. The odds of this remaining intact dwindled as she allowed herself to stare at John for a moment. His skin was tanned from sun exposure, and he’d grown a few more inches.  
“Come in for a drink?”  
“Sure.”  
She gleefully followed John up the steps to his house, and into the parlour. The maid brought them each a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.  
“So How was your summer?”  
“Rather boring.” John muttered, stuffing a chocolate bourbon into his mouth.  
“Just walked, and visited castles mostly. What did you do?”  
Sherlock had worried she wouldn’t have anything interesting to say, but seeing as John hadn’t done anything either, she didn’t feel as inadequate.  
“Nothing really. I did a few experiments though.”  
She then recalled the details of her biscuit burning experiment. As expected John had some interesting opinions, and laughed at the retelling of the doily burning incident.  
“You’ve grown a lot.” Sherlock noted.  
“As have you.”  
John didn’t mean for his eyes to wander, but he couldn’t help but notice that the rosy cheeked child he use to play chess with was becoming a young woman. He adverted his eyes before she noticed, her attention on the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup.  
“Sorry, I think there may be a hole in the tea strainer.”  
“There are lost of holes in a tea strainer, John. That is the point.”  
John pursed his lips.  
“If one was to tear a hole in a net, there would be fewer holes. Im sure the same principle applies to tea strainers.” She stated, not really aiming this fact at John.  
“I’m sure.”  
She smiled politely, and placed the teacup in its saucer on the table.  
“School starts next week. Are you looking forward to it?”  
“Yes, I suppose I am. I’ll actually be allowed to do experiments without being told it’s ‘unsafe, and bloody well stupid’” She said in quotation marks.  
John guffawed a laugh.  
“I’ll be sure to walk you.”  
“Such a gentleman.” She mused, trying to hide the small thrill that filled her at the prospect of walking to school side by side with the blonde boy. Side by side would do for now, although there was a pang of sadness that it wasn’t hand in hand.


	8. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes to secondary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a short chapter, but I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the lovely comments, they make me happy :)

Sherlock age: 11  
John age: 15

4th of September 1912

It wasn’t until Sherlock started going to secondary that she saw John more often. She walked to and from school with him, and sometimes saw him in the hallways. That was enough for her. She hadn’t made any friends at school, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone. Mycroft and Harriet had both left for university, and only came home during the holidays. The two houses had seen out their days of being family homes, filled with children’s laughter. More often than not, the only thing that filled the Holmes’ dwellings was the sound of Sherlock’s violin.


	9. Authors note

Hi guys! I’m really enjoying writing this, and I’m so happy people seem to be enjoying it. Only a few more chapters until John and Sherlock get together, so stayed tune. ;) also, I’ve just written another Sherlock fan fiction, a teenlock slow burn with loads of smut... go check it out!


	10. Gavin, Geoff, George?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft brings home a gentleman from university, where he has to face the wrath of Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter here, hope you enjoy! 1914 won’t be long, and romance will blossom soon! Let me know how much ‘sauciness’ you guys would like. ;)

Sherlock age: 11  
John age: 16

27th of February 1913

“Wear the blue one, dear. Sherlock, what do you think? The colour suits her, doesn’t it?”  
“No colour will tone down that nose of hers.”  
“Sherlock!”  
After a lot of questions, it had been squeezed out of Mycroft that she had met a chap at university. She’d caved after her mother’s persistent nagging, and had invited him over for tea. Of course Sherlock had guessed as soon as she came home. The smell of aftershave was unmistakable on her coat.  
“What time is Gavin getting here?”  
“Greg, and he’ll be here at four.”  
Sherlock rolled her eyes, and threw a bundle of blouses on to the space on the bed behind her. Their mother had made Mycroft try on about a hundred.  
“Do I have to be there?”  
“Yes, darling. He’s come to meet your sister’s family. You’re part of her family.”  
“Not by choice.”  
“Yes, I would have preferred a dog to a sister. Or a cat. Or a goldfish.” Mycroft grumbled, narrowing her eyes at the younger child.  
“In fact, you need to get dressed. Go. Now, please.”  
Sherlock begrudgingly left Mycroft’s room, and went to get changed.  
“Wear the purple dress you got From Mrs Hudson for Christmas!” Her mother called down the hall. She put on said dress, and tried to run a comb through her hair. After a battle with her ebony locks, she went downstairs to find Mrs Hudson.  
“Oh, don’t you look lovely dear.”  
“Thank you. Could you help me with the ties please? I didn’t dare go back into Mycroft’s room.”  
Mrs Hudson chuckled, and beckoned for the girl to come to her.  
“You know, I used to rock you to sleep in this chair when you were a baby.”  
Sherlock turned to smile at her nanny.  
“I’ve seen a photo.”  
Mrs Hudson tucked a loose curl behind Sherlock’s ear.  
“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown. Such a beautiful girl you’ve become. Now run along, your mother will be looking for you.”  
“Thank you for tying my bow.”  
Sherlock went to find Mycroft. She was sat in the parlour, a book in her lap.  
“Are you going to marry... Gary.”  
“Greg. I don’t know. I hope. I think you’ll like him Sherlock.”  
“I don’t like anyone.” Sherlock muttered, slumping backwards in to the arm chair opposite.  
“Neither do I, normally. But I like him.”  
“You mean you fancy him.”  
Sherlock jumped back out of the chair to grab a biscuit off the table.  
“You like John.” Mycroft said knowingly, eyeing Sherlock from behind her book.  
The curly haired girl had no answer for that. Instead, she threw a custard cream at mycroft’s head, and went to find their mother. 

Greg arrived about half an hour later.  
“I’ll get it!”  
Mycroft walked swiftly for the door to let him in.  
“Hello, love.”  
“Hello. Come in. My mother and sister are in the garden.”  
Mycroft took his coat and hat, and hung them on the coat stand.  
“Your father’s not home?”  
“No, but Sherlock is far more likely to grill you than him.”  
Greg swallowed nervously.  
“Mother, this is Greg Lestrade. Greg, this is my mother Anne Holmes. And that’s Sherlock.”  
While they dealt with all the formalities, Sherlock eyed up Greg, and made her deductions. Avid smoker, pipe not cigarettes, owned a large dog, social drinker, sportsman.  
“So, geff....”  
“Greg.” Mycroft interrupted.  
“Yes, Greg. Would you like some tobacco?”  
The young man frowned in confusion, then a look of realisation flashed across his face.  
“Ah, she’s like you then, Mycroft.”  
The older girl looked over to Sherlock, then nodded her head.  
“Yes, She is.”  
“Alright then. Thank you.”  
Sherlock wandered into her father’s study, and came back with a small tub of his less favoured, but still fine quality tobacco. She came back with the tub, and presented it to Greg.  
“Thank you. Is it alright if I smoke?” He asked Mrs Holmes.  
“Quite.” She said with a smile. 

Greg left a few hours later.  
“I like him. Such a nice chap.”  
“I like him too.”  
The two women turned to look at the youngest member of the family.  
“Oh, I liked him too.” She said, realising the final verdict rested on her. “Charming, not so much to be cocky, and awkward enough to know he was genuine.”  
Mycroft smiled softly, and affectionally squeezed the younger girl’s shoulder. She left for her room, quietly humming ‘sweet Adeline’.


	11. Sherlock’s birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock celebrate her birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Sherlock age: 12  
John age: 16

16th of June 1913

Birthdays weren’t really Sherlock’s thing. She didn’t have parties, or see her extended family. The only thing she looked forward to was johns gifts. He always knew just what to get her. She sat crosses legged in front of him with a box in a lap. Handle with care. Was scrawled in bold on the top. She did just this as she opened it. Inside was a set of glass bottles, test tubes, and a conical flask.  
“John, these are so cool, thank you. Where did you find them?”  
“A shop in town. I’ll take you at some point, if you like.”  
“Really?” Sherlock asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.  
“Of course.”  
The brunette smiled wildly.


	12. A day in town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John spend a day in town, and John gets a bit overprotective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy you guys! Thank you for the lovely comments!

Sherlock age: 12  
John age: 16

24th of June 1913 

“Please Mama.”  
Sherlock was stood behind her mother in the kitchen, trying to convince her to let her go into town with John.   
“Mmm... I don’t know.”   
“Pleeeaaase.” Sherlock pleaded, her blue eyes wide.   
“Oh, alright.”   
Sherlock was very good at getting her way, so it was no surprise to her that this was the answer. She now had to walk down the drive to get to John’s, which took an extra few minutes. She had told him her mother had said yes before she’d even asked her, so John was ready at the door.   
“Look after her John!” Mrs Holmes called from the porch.   
“I will!”  
Sherlock rolled her eyes. The twelve year old was more than capable of looking after herself, and found this an insult.   
“Nice blouse.”   
“Oh, Thank you.”   
Sherlock blushed.   
It was summer, so she was wearing her coolest clothes, including a light blue blouse, and a grey skirt. She was making the most of the fact that she could still wear socks. She’d have to trade them for stockings in a few years, just as she had seen Mycroft do. They arrived in town after a short walk, and tram ride.   
“Where do you want to go first? The sweet shop? The art shop?”   
“The shop you got the test tubes from.” She told him earnestly.   
“Alright, That would be the glass shop.”   
“Watson!”  
They both whipped their heads around to see a group of boys.   
“John?” Sherlock asked anxiously.   
“Just some boys from school.”   
Sherlock followed John over to the boys from johns school.   
“Who’s this pretty little thing?” One of the boys asked, turning his attention to Sherlock.   
“This is Sherlock. She’s my neighbour. She’s also twelve, so back off.”   
Sherlock wasn’t normally one to back away from confrontation, but she wasn’t use to being the objective of this sort of male attention, and found herself backing away to stand behind john.   
“Alright, bruiser, calm down. I didn’t mean anything by it.”  
“John, let’s go.” Sherlock said, tugging on johns sleeve.   
“Yes, good idea.”   
John placed his hand on the small of her back, and steered her over towards the shop she was so eager to get to.


	13. Wedding day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft’s wedding day, and everyone else becomes aware of the feelings John and sherlock have for each other. Except John and Sherlock...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not proof read this.

Sherlock age: 12  
John age: 16

3rd of September 1913

Today was a day nobody thought would come. Mycroft’s wedding day. She and Greg had been courting for about a year and a half. He’d finally met her father that summer, and they’d got on very well. He’d asked for permission to marry Mycroft that same day. Sherlock had promised her mother she wouldn’t interrogate the guests, or insult Mycroft, and she’d try and remember her soon to be brother in law’s name. The family was all bustling around the house, Harriet was up in mycroft’s room helping her get ready, and Mrs Holmes was fighting a loosing battle with Sherlock over the matter of her hair.  
“Darling, please tie it up.”  
“No.”  
“Sweetie, darling.”  
“I said no.”  
“It’s your sister’s special day, now tie your hair up.”  
Mrs Holmes was used to these sorts of fights with the troublesome teen, starting with why she had to heat the crusts of her bread when she was three years old.  
“Yes, and I highly doubt she cares what I do with my hair!”  
Her mother sighed loudly, and left the room defeated. A moment later, there was a knock at her door.  
“Sherlock? It’s John.”  
The blonde boy was behind the door in a suit and tie, a hair band in hand.  
“Did my mother send you?”  
“No.” John said offended. “Mrs Hudson did.”  
Sherlock tried to hold back a giggle, her mind set on being annoyed.  
“She knew you wouldn’t want your hair up, so she bought you this.”  
John held out the white band, decorated with three, pink roses.  
“Just try it.”  
She sighed, but took the band from him regardless. John couldn’t help it stare at the blossoming beauty that was Sherlock  
Holmes.  
“What?”  
“You look very pretty.”  
Sherlock blushed, and thanked him quietly. She had already that thought that morning when she first put on the tasteful, cotton candy dress.  
“Come on then.”  
John took her hand, and lead her down the stairs, mostly for support in her heeled shoes.  
“Oh, don’t you two look lovely.”  
Mrs Holmes and Mrs Watson were stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the two youngest children with tear filled eyes. They shared a knowing look witch was only caught by John. He let go of Sherlock as soon as they got to the bottom of the stairs. She didn’t notice, as she soon became the objective of Mrs Hudson’s fussing. A moment later, Mycroft appeared at the stairs. She was dressed in a fishtail gown, her hair was up, and her makeup was immaculate.  
“Oh, darling, you look stunning.”  
The brunette smiled, and thanked her mother. Mr Holmes cried upon seeing her, and brought her into a warm hug.  
“You’re so beautiful. Just like your mother.”  
Sherlock couldn’t bring herself to eye roll at the sentimental moment.  
A car arrived shortly after, and Mycroft, Sherlock, Mrs Holmes, and Harriet got in. The others were driven in a second car. They arrived an hour in advance, and greg arrived shortly after. Sherlock and John sat together singing assorted sea shanties, including the inappropriate ‘I’ll make a man out of anyone of you.’ This resulted in John being thwacked round the head by his mother. 

It was a nice wedding, very cheerful, no arguments, and an all round nice day, with the exception of Sherlock and John getting told off for starting a confetti fight. They all went back to the Holmes’ estate for the after party, which spilt from the house out to the garden. They had tea and cake on the lawn, and danced in the dining hall, cleared of its chairs and tables. Mycroft and Greg danced their first dance alone, then everyone else took to the floor to dance. Harriet had danced with the young man who had been Gregs’s best man, and John had only got up to dance with his mother. Sherlock was otherwise occupied providing the music. She had insisted playing her violin, a touching gesture that unbeknownst to her, was much appreciated by Mycroft. She eventually went to sit down when one of the newlyweds’ friends from university got up to play a piano solo. She sat in the corner observing the guests, quietly deducing them.  
“Care to dance?”  
John stood before her, arm extended towards her. Although she’d never say, Sherlock was very fond of dancing, and would often practice in the drawing room to the tunes of ‘Yankee doodle’ on the gramophone.  
“I would love to.”  
She excepted johns hand, and allowed him to lead her over to the dance floor. The pianist began to play.  
“I love this song.”  
“Me too.” Sherlock grinned.  
John took both her hands in his, and began to dance. They frolicked around the floor with the other pairs, laughter filling the room.  
“Jolly good violin by the way.”  
“Thank you.” Sherlock beamed.  
The Hokey Cokey came on, and the couples all joined into a circle. Mrs Holmes had sat out to watch her children, and was surprised to find that she’d never seen either of her daughters look so happy. After a short break, the music picked up again, but a slow song this time.  
Sherlock was sat on a table trying to persuade Mycroft to never have children, as she didn’t want an army of annoying, large nosed infants running around calling her ‘auntie Sherly’.  
“Miss Holmes, would you do me the honour of giving me this dance?”  
Mycroft smirked at Sherlock.  
The brunette turned her attention to the young man before her, and extended her hand.  
“Why, Yes Mr Watson.”  
She followed John onto the dance floor once more. She placed one of her hands on his shoulder, and the other remained entangled with his. His previously free hand found its way to her hip. She silenced a gasp. The intro for the song changed into the melody, and the pair began to step in time to the piano. John kept eye contact with her as best he could, but looking down at his feet as he tried not to step on her. As the song slowed to an end, Sherlock rested her head on johns chest. She didn’t know how long it would be until she had another opportunity to show him such affection, so she took it with both hands. She couldn’t help the smile that spread to her face when she felt John rest his head on hers. For a moment, she blocked out the music, and all she could hear was his heart beating, loud and as fast as hers.


	14. New Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All John needed was a little ‘Dutch courage’ to make a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! I’m so glad you guys seem to like This story. :)

Sherlock age: 12  
John age: 16

31st of December/1st of January 1914

The start of the year was a few hours away. The Watsons and the Holmes, among with a few friends, had decided to have a dinner party. The youngest two attendants had no idea the start of the year would not be the same as the end. Mycroft and Harriet were swapping university stories, and John and Sherlock were up in the latter’s room discussing their plans and goals for the New Years.  
“5 minutes children.”  
“Ok, mother.”  
Sherlock had noticed John’s rather withdrawn manner through the evening, and finally asked him what was bothering him.  
“What’s wrong?”  
Johns grey eyes met her baby blues.  
“What? Oh, nothing. Don’t worry. Should we go back to the parlour?”  
“Ok.”  
Sherlock followed John down the stairs back to the party, and sat with their parents, siblings, and friends as they waited for the countdown. Sherlock and John had both been given some champagne, and had been sipping at it faster than they should have. It was fair to say both of them were rather tipsy.  
“You know, you’re so smart.”  
“I know.” Sherlock chuckled. “I never tried to deny it.”’  
“You’re also cocky.”  
“Mmmm.”  
Sherlock wobbled in her heeled boots as she tried to stay up.  
“You know what?”  
“What?” John asked, his voice slurred.  
“That teacher of yours in physics.”  
“What about him?”  
“He’s having an affair.”  
Johns eyes went to comical saucer size.  
“He’s cheating with that substitute who teaches biology. What they’re up to definitely isn’t on the curriculum!” She squealed.  
“I don’t why I care, but oh my god!”  
Sherlock slurred some explanation as to how she knew all this, but John wasn’t sure he would have even understood her if they were both sober. Regardless of what she’d been drinking, the girl spoke faster than a bullet train. The pair spewed nonsense to each other till they were gasping for breath from giggling.  
“5!”  
The start of the countdown brought their attention.  
“4!”  
Sherlock stumbled in her heals, and tumbled into johns arms.  
“3!”  
John stared down at her big blue eyes, then at her plump lips. The pair didn’t hear the last few numbers as they stared at each other, gradually leaning closer.  
“Happy new year!”  
They pulled back abruptly, their cheeks hot. Neither child could look at the other, so their gaze remained on the floor, or the ceiling, both of which had suddenly become of the upmost interest.  
“Happy new year my darlings.” A very drunk Harriet kissed both children on the cheek, the feint smell of the vodka she’d been discreetly sipping at all night lingering after she walked away. Other people gravitated towards them to wish them a happy New Years, then stumbled away in their drunken sweep. They found their way back to each other at the end of the night when they were to say goodbye to one another.  
“Happy new year, John.” Sherlock stuttered.  
“Happy new year, Sherlock.”  
After a split second of hesitation, John leaned down, and placed a kiss on one of Sherlock’s rosy cheeks. He pulled back, and left without another word.


	15. Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John talk about their drunken kiss.

Sherlock age:12  
John age:16

1st of January 1914

Sherlock awoke with her first hangover, and very little recollection of the nights events. She sat up, her hand immediately going to her pounding head. Her hand then moved to her cheek. John had kissed her. She remembered that for sure. She went down the stairs, shivering as the cold winter air nipped at her skin, the thin cotton night dress she wore doing nothing to protect her from the chill. Mycroft was in the kitchen resting her head in her arms. Sherlock took a seat opposite her, which caused the young woman to lift her head.   
“I think we can agree on no talking.” She murmured, rubbing her temples.   
“You saying that is already too many noises, shhh.”   
Mycroft chuckled, then exclaimed in pain.   
Sherlock wondered how much her sister had to drink the previous night.   
“Good morning.”   
“I resent that.” Mycroft grumbled in response to their mother’s greeting.   
“Nothing is good about this.”   
“Awww, is my poor little girl hungover.” Mrs Holmes chided.   
“Leave me alone.”   
Mrs Hudson came down shortly after, and made some tea for both girls.   
“I hate alcohol.”   
“You don’t mean that. There will be a repeat next year.” Mycroft said as she tried to get up.   
“No, that’s not happening.”   
She slumped back into the chair, her eyes screwed shut. Sherlock giggled at her sister, then found herself gagging, and trying not to throw up.   
“I wonder how the Watsons are holding up. I saw Harriet downing something a little stronger than champagne.” Mycroft murmured.   
“I noticed.”   
“I’m sure you did.”   
“Mother invited them over for tea. Perhaps coffee for Harriet.” Sherlock noted, a grin on her face.   
Mycroft tried to look disapproving, but could help the small smile that tugged at her lips.  
“So, where’s Gordon?  
“Greg, and he’s at work.”   
“Will He be joining us later?” Sherlock asked, taking a sip of her tea.   
“Maybe.”  
“It’s a shame Harriet doesn’t have a chap.”   
Mycroft pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything.   
“What about your chap?”  
“Who, John?”   
Sherlock realised she shouldn’t have been so quick to suggest John, and should have jumped straight to denial.   
“He’s not my chap.”   
The door bell rang at that moment, effectively cutting Mycroft off.   
“Saved by the bell.”   
Sherlock stuck out her tongue, but Mycroft didn’t notice as she went to get the door.   
“It’s the Watsons.”   
“Bugger.” Sherlock muttered under her breath.   
She hadn’t even got dressed, and was still only clad in a night dress. She went to run up the stairs, but the blond occupants of next door were all standing in the hall, John included.   
“Oh, Hello.” She said awkwardly, her arms slowly crossing over her bare chest.   
“Afternoon, dear. Is your mother about?”  
“She’s in the parlour. If you will excuse me to get changed. As you can see, I’m not dressed to entertain.”   
She quickly ran up the stairs before John could start a conversation with her. She dressed quickly in a skirt and blouse, then went back downstairs. Mr Holmes and Mr Watson were in the former’s study, no doubt drinking scotch, Mrs Holmes and Mrs Watson were chatting about crochet patterns in the parlour, Mycroft and Harriet were quietly nursing their hangovers in the corner of the room, and John was sat on his own by the fireplace. Sherlock made the brave decision to sit next to him in the other armchair.   
“You look awful.”   
“Good morning Sherlock, how are you?” John teased sarcastically.   
“Sorry.”   
“How did you sleep?”  
“Well.” She replied cautiously. “You?”  
“Like a baby. Woke with the most dreadful hangover though.”  
“You are not alone there.”   
John grinned.   
“Listen, about last night.” John said after a moment.   
Oh no.  
“I can only hope you can forgive me for my behaviour. I was inebriated, and it was fair to say my inhibitions were greatly lowered.”   
John explained all of this without eye contact, luckily for Sherlock, as the tears forming in her eyes went unseen.   
“I understand completely. You are entirely forgiven.”   
She smiled weakly at him. He took her hand in his, and squeezed it gently. He still saw her as a child, as she suspected he always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know this isn’t what you guys were hoping for, but they will get togetherness soon. I cant have Sherlock being too young.


	16. Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Sherlock to the museum for her birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Sherlock age: 13  
John age: 17

16th of June 1914

At 13, Sherlock was allowed out and about on her own for a short time, and longer if John went with her. John was nearly an adult, and had been allowed to take her down into London to the natural history museum for her birthday. John had never seen her so happy, running from display cabinets, dragging him along to look with her. The events of New Years had been dusted under the rug, and neither of them ever mentioned it. It was probably for the best.  
“Thank you so much, John. I really enjoyed myself.”  
“You’re very welcome.”  
They walked back to the train station together, then made their way back home.  
Sherlock held out a packet of toffees she’d bought in the gift shop to john. She’d bought it with money from her parents. Nothing they ever bought her was what she wanted, so they’d given up a few years back. John was the only person who really knew what she was interested in. Not only that, but he brought himself to have an interest too. Sherlock hadn’t noticed, but she’d been staring at him for a good few minutes now.  
He had grown up so much since the first time she saw him. He now had a sharp jawline, traces of stubble there from where he’d started shaving, and he’d grown about a foot in the last two years alone. Despite the changes, he was still John, and rather handsome at that. She was lucky John hadn’t noticed she was staring either.  
When they got back, Mrs Hudson insured he stayed for dinner. Sherlock was sent upstairs to get changed from her out door clothes, while Mrs Hudson asked John to sit with her in the kitchen. She had become like a grandmother not only to Mycroft and Sherlock, but to Harriet and John too. Sherlock of course hadn’t gone up, and was eavesdropping on the stairs to whatever they had to say.  
“Thank you for taking Sherlock out, John dear.”  
“It’s no trouble. I love spending time with her.”  
She noticed John’s voice break. Her nanny had placed a hand on his back, and was rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades.  
“I want to make the most of her.”  
Sherlock screwed up her eyebrows, and walked down a few more steps in hope of hearing a little more.  
“I’m not ready.”  
John was crying by this point. Sherlock could hear the sobs that wracked his body.  
”Oh darling.”  
Was John dying?  
She fell back on the stairs, and sat there, numb. She ran back up before they could hear her, and collapsed in heap of tears on her bed.


	17. Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shuts Sherlock out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed the ages! Johns birthday is in February now.

Sherlock age: 13  
John age: 17

29th of July 1914

Sherlock hadn’t seen John for a few days, and was beginning to get worried. Everyone else seemed worried and tense, but for very different reasons. There had been rumours that the country was on the verge of war for a few weeks now, and by this point it seemed almost inevitable. Sherlock was fairly oblivious to it all as her mother had ushered her out of the room anytime someone brought it up during house parties, and always turned the radio down during broadcasts.  
“Sherlock, have you done your homework?”  
“Yes mother.”  
“Do you want tea?”  
“Please.”  
Those were some of the only syllables Sherlock had muttered all week, and was letting the tragic melodies she played on her violin speak for her. Mrs Holmes had gone to visit Mycroft who had a house a few doors down.  
“I’m worried about your sister.”  
“Anything besides the usual?”  
Mrs Holmes sent her one of the warning looks she used to give her as a child.  
“The age for recruitment is 16. John will be 17 later this year.”  
Mycroft inhaled sharply. Her mother didn’t need to say anything more. For the first time in her life, Mycroft had nothing to add either. She simply nodded her head in understanding. Mrs Holmes finished her tea, then made her leave.


	18. War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets devistating news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, John isn’t dying. Also, read the end notes for explanations that may be needed.

Sherlock age: 13  
John age: 17

4th of August 1914

The announcement that war had broken out was on every radio channel in the country. Everyone, Sherlock included, was fully aware of what was going on by now. She was too caught up listening to what her parents were saying that she failed to consider one major consequence. She’d finally managed to fall asleep after hours of pacing her room, only to be interrupted by something colliding with her window.  
She cardio the room, and saw John stood in her garden.  
“What the devil are you doing?”  
John motioned for her to come down. She crept down the stairs, hugging her blue dressing gown to her. She unlocked the back door to let John in.  
“What are you doing here? It’s... 04:00.” She said, casting an eye to the grandfather clock in the corner.  
“I need to talk to you.”  
She’d never heard John use this tone of voice before. She lead John into the parlour, sank down into a chair, and patted the one next to her. As John moved into the light, she got a proper glimpse of him. He hadn’t shaved, and the dark bags under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept either.  
“John...?” She asked, concern in her voice.  
The boy said nothing, his eyes not really focusing on anything.  
“You said you wanted to talk to me?”  
He still kept quiet, and the impatient teenager was getting annoyed.  
“Look, you’ve been absent for days, now here you are at 04:00 with out so much as an explanation! John, I swear-“  
“I’ve been recruited.”  
Those were the three words that would haunt Sherlock for years, although she didn’t know it.  
“You... you what?” She asked, unable to process the information she’d been given.  
“I’m leaving tomorrow. My train is at 08:00. I don’t know if- when I’ll be home.”  
His voice cracked as he explained what was going to happen, but Sherlock didn’t hear any of it.  
“You can’t leave me.” She said after a long pause.  
“I have to. I don’t have a choice.”  
Tears were falling freely from both their eyes by this point.  
“I can’t loose you.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have to come back. For me.”  
John looked up at her with sad, bloodshot eyes. He patted his knee, and Sherlock carefully climbed into his lap.  
“I’ll come home. I will.” He whimpered, burring his face in her hair.  
Sherlock had never seen John cry before. She still remembered the first time John had seen her cry. She’d fallen off a chair whilst trying to reach a box of checkers, and he’d kissed her knee to make her better. John was hurting on the inside. She wasn’t sure how to make that better, but she went with the first thing that popped into her head. She leaned in, and captured johns lips in a kiss. His lips were warm, and soft, and tasted ever so slightly of ginger. It was only for a second before she pulled back. John was staring at her with hooded eyes. He didn’t say anything. He simply moved his arms in order to allow Sherlock to lie on his chest, where he stroked her hair till she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am fully aware that signing up wasn’t compulsory until 1916, but John has to go unwillingly in 1914 for my story to work! Did I change history for a story plot? Yes, yes I did.


	19. Be my guardian angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John leaves for war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING! ***attempted suicide*** PLEASE DONT READ IF THIS CHAPTER MAY AFFECT YOU.

Sherlock age: 13  
John age: 17

5th of August 1914

When Sherlock awoke the next morning, she was in her parlour. There was also an ache in her back. That was when she remembered who her mattress was. John was sound asleep beneath her, snoring softly. After glancing at the clock, which read 05:30, she lay her head back down on his chest, and drifted off. 

The next time she awoke, she was on the sofa, and she was alone. It was now 07:30. It took her a moment to catch on, but she remembered what John had said after a moment. Johns train was at 08:00. She didn’t have time to get dressed. She pulled on her boots, threw on her coat, left the house, and ran down the street still trying to do up her buttons. She took the tram to the train station, all but throwing her fair at the poor driver. When she got to the station, she ran to the information desk, and shouted her question about johns train to the man who may have been very great full for the glass between them. He stuttered out the platform number, and she was off again. She caught sight of the blond a few feet down the platform, Harriet and his parents around him.  
“JOHN!”  
He whipped his head around to see Sherlock amongst the sea of people. His family took a step back as the brunette hurtled towards him.  
“Sherlock!”  
She flung her arms around his neck, and held him tight.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“You left without saying goodbye!” She said tersely.  
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve never been good with goodbyes. Besides, you looked so peaceful.”  
John reached out to tuck a loose curl behind Sherlock’s ear.  
“Like a little angel. I suppose I’ll need a guardian angel to watch over me.”  
Sherlock looked up to him with tear filled eyes. A train whistle blew in the distance.  
“Not yet.”  
“Sherlock, I have to.”  
She buried her head in his chest, sobbing freely.  
“Alright.” She choked out.  
John pulled back from her to look at her. He found himself sobbing when he realised it could be for the last time. They heard a conductor ordering the men to get on the trains.  
“I really have to go this time.”  
After a moment of hesitation, John kissed Sherlock on her plump, pink lips. When he pulled back, her eyes were wide.  
“Wait for me.”  
Those were the lasts words she’d hear John say in person for quite some time.  
She watched as his train left, walking along the platform beside it until it’s green metal body left her sight. The first few seconds, she was completely numb. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing. She looked down at the yellow line along the platform, only to see that it was behind her, and that she was stood right at the edge. She knew what would happen if she took one more step. She stepped forwards, but what she’d expected didn’t come.  
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”  
She was being pulled back to the safety of the platform, behind the yellow line, where she fell into a heap on the floor, along with whoever had saved her. It was only when she picked up in the familiar scent of the perfume that she recognised her saviour.  
“He’s gone!” She wailed, crying her eyes out.  
“I know.”  
Mycroft Holmes sat with her younger sister for 46 minutes on the platform till she lost her voice from crying out for John.


	20. PART 2 Life  without John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock struggles to adapt to life without her companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys will tell me if this is getting to dark, right...? :/ :)

Sherlock age: 13  
John age: 17

9th of August 1914

“How is she?”  
“She’s been like that for five days.”  
Mycroft peered round the door to see the younger girl slumped against her headboard, her eyes droopy and bloodshot, her hair akin to a rats nest, and the bags under her eyes sunken, and dark.  
“Has she eaten?”  
“No. She won’t let anything but water past her lips. She hasn’t said a word to anyone either.” 

Greg had been recruited, and left the same morning as John. Mycroft had spotted Sherlock in her dark coat wandering along the platform, far too close to the edge. After she’d stopped Sherlock from jumping, she’d sat with her on the freezing ground until she stopped crying. They sat in silence on the tram ride home, and Sherlock left for her room where she had remained since.

“Is there any point trying to talk to her?”  
“Probably not, but you can give it a shot.”  
Mycroft nodded. She entered the room, leaving their mother in the hall to her own devices.  
“Afternoon, Sherlock.”  
The girl in question didn’t move, her eyes remaining fixated on the wall in front of her.  
“I’m well aware that you won’t talk to me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you.”  
Mycroft sat down at the edge of Sherlock’s bed, her eyes roaming over her little sister.  
“I’m moving back in here for now. At a time like this, we all aught to be together, don’t you think?” She asked somewhat rhetorically.  
“Also, mummy might appreciate the company.”  
Mycroft thought Sherlock should have been annoyed enough to answer by now. She exhaled a shaky breath, then got to her feet.  
“Come downstairs when you feel like talking.”


	21. The first letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock receives her first letter from john.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, the chapters stop being soppy and empty soon.

Sherlock age: 13  
John age: 17

24th of August 1914

Sherlock still hadn't come downstairs, and Mycroft and Mrs Holmes had begun to get extremely worried. Mrs Homes had telephoned Doctor, who was currently in their parlour.  
"So has she been eating?"  
"A little. But she doesn't even acknowledge we're there." Mycroft said calmly, sipping at her tea.  
"May I take a look at her?"  
"Of course. She's upstairs. I'll take you up. Mother, Mrs Watson said she'd be by soon. Best for you to entertain her rather than myself."  
Mycroft took the doctor up to Sherlock. She didn’t move when they came in, just as Mycroft expected. The doctor took her temperature, took a blood test, and listened to her heart.  
“Her vitals all look fine. I believe she is suffering from heartbreak, although I cannot hear it with my stethoscope.” He said sadly, glancing over to the young girl.  
“In other words, I think she has developed depression.”  
Mycroft worried her lip between her teeth. It was what they had all suspected, and hearing the doctor say it only confirmed it. Footsteps running up at the stairs drew Mycroft’s attention. Mrs Holmes and Mrs Watson practically fell through the door. The sudden outburst made Sherlock jump, her eyes falling on the pair.  
“Letter for you darling.” Her mother said enthusiastically, practically thrusting the letter out to her. They all found themselves staring at her as she took it with a shaky hand. She sliced it open with an overgrown nail, and took out the carefully folded paper. She instantly recognised the hand writing as John’s.  
“Get out.”  
They all heard her perfectly well, and did as she said. Alone with the letter, she began to read. 

Dear, Sherlock. 

I hope all is well with you. It’s not so bad here. My bed is uncomfortable, I have to wake up too early, and one of my bunk mates snores, but other than that, It’s okay. 

I’ve won five chess games, and lost two. They would be no match for you, Sherl. 

I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and I miss you. 

-Love John x

She stared down at the letter before her. She hadn’t even noticed she’d been crying until one of her tears landed on the paper clutched in her hands. She slowly slid out of bed, her legs wobbling under her weight, and walked over to her dresser. She searched around for her writing set, and upon finding what she required, sat down to write to john. 

Dear, John... 

She left out what had happened at the station, and that she hadn’t left her room since. She simply made up some nonsense, mentioned the weather and a few sports games, along with some gossip she’d overheard. She walked across her room, and hesitantly opened the door. She silently went down the stairs, and into the parkour. The three women all turned to look at her.  
“Take this to the post office. Please.” She held the letter out to Mycroft, who graciously took it from her.  
The young woman smiled sadly at her, then went into the hall to fetch her coat.  
“How are you feeling darling?” Her mother asked in a soothing tone.  
Sherlock shrugged her shoulders as she sat down in the arm chair by the sofa.  
“Move this chair.”  
Her mother turned her head to look at her youngest daughter.  
“What darling?”  
“The chair. Move it, please.”  
Her mother didn’t ask why, she simply moved the chair across the room, somewhere Sherlock seemingly deemed appropriate. She wouldn’t say out loud why the chair had to be moved. She just couldn’t bear to look at his empty chair. It was johns chair.


	22. Yellow telegrams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John experiences some traumatic events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll delve into Sherlock and John’s relationship more in the following chapters. Also, how smutty do you lot want this? Let me know ;)

Sherlock age: 13  
John age: 17

9th of October 1914 

When John was 14, and Sherlock was 10, a boy from their school was killed in an accident. The boy lived across the street, and they often saw him playing with his sisters in the yard. John remembered watching with Sherlock out his bedroom window as the police walked up to their house. 

“He’s dead.”  
“What?”  
Sherlock was pressed up against the window, small patches of condensation forming where she was breathing.  
“The police officer has taken his hat off. It’s always bad news when they do that.”  
John furrowed his eyebrows.  
“It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s dead. Maybe he’s just missing.”  
Sherlock turned to face him, her eyebrows arched.  
“That’s hardly ever the case. It’s like when you receive a yellow telegram. They could be missing, but they’re probably dead.”  
The boy’s mother fell to the floor as the police officer explained what had happened.  
“Told you.” Sherlock grinned.  
“Alright, a boy has just died. Stop smiling.”  
“Not good?”  
“Bit not good.” 

John would always remember that day. He’d also remember today.  
It was the first time he saw a man die. 

David Smith, a young man from his bunk.  
He was shot in the head. His eyes went wide as blood poured from his skull. He fell forwards, and collapsed in the crimson pool. It shook John to his very core. He lay in bed that night, tossing and turning. He wondered who would tell David’s mother he wasn’t coming home. John began to cry as he imagined her stood on her porch, praying to god that the mail man wasn’t bringing her a yellow telegram.


	23. Merry Christmas John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day at the front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy.

Sherlock age: 13  
John age: 17

25th of December 1914

‘The war would be over by Christmas’ they said. ‘Our boys would be home by Christmas’ they said. ‘You’ll return war heroes’ they said. But the war was still raging, the boys were still fighting, and some of them wouldn’t be returning at all. 

John was sat at the dinner table surrounded by his comrades and commanding officers. There was laughter and jokes, but it all seemed forced. The reminder that they didn’t know how long they would have to fight was fresh in everyone’s mind. The only thing that had John in a good mood was the letter he received along with a gift basket from Sherlock. 

Dear john

Merry Christmas. I shan’t say happy new year, as I believe it shall be anything but. I will however, wish you a better new year. 

We are to have a good close here. For once, the fires were not started by me. Mother got carried away with the brandy, and the Christmas pudding got out of hand. Your parents and sister are here too. Your mother is rather tipsy, and is singing Christmas carols very out of tune. Our fathers seem to be enjoying the duty of ‘home guard’. I dare say it is not nearly as strenuous as your endeavours. We’re all thinking of you. I miss you. 

-Love Sherlock x.


	24. East winds blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock receives a birthday present from John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy! Please let me know if you have requests for chapters.

Sherlock age: 14  
John age: 18

29th of June 1915

Sherlock was sat in her bedroom, organising her letters from John. She kept them in a tin, hidden under her mattress. The most recent one arrived that morning. 

Dear Sherlock,

Happy birthday. I’m sorry if this gets to you late, I’ve been swamped. I won’t bore you with the goings here, although I will say that my bloody bunk mate is still snoring. He gave me a pack of cigarettes for Christmas though, so I’ll let him off. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the gift, if of course it gets to you at all. 

-love John x

The gift had come. It was a small gold locket. John had sent a letter to Mrs Watson to buy it at the Jewellers, and she’d brought it by in the afternoon. A few months back, John had sent a photo of him and his troupes. After swooning over John in full uniform, Sherlock had cut the photo to size, and put his photo in the locket. She hesitated for a moment before shoving the tin back under her mattress, and going down stairs. She tried to sit in the parlour, but her mother came bustling in, insisting she went outside.  
“Go on, it’s such as nice day. Mycroft’s is out there.”  
“Even more of a reason not to go.”  
“Sherlock.” Her mother said in warning.  
She grumbled, but obliged regardless.  
Mycroft was sat in one of the lawn chairs on the patio, a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits on the table beside her.  
“Afternoon.”  
Sherlock nodded in greeting, and took a seat beside her.  
“Mrs Watson looks a little worse for wear doesn’t she?”  
“Well wouldn’t you be?” Mycroft asked, rasing her eyebrows.  
Sherlock didn’t say anything, and reached for a biscuit. A chocolate bourbon. Sherlock held it with shaky hands before putting it back down, and eating a custard cream.  
“Are you ok?” Mycroft asked.  
“Yes. Fine.”  
“Mycroft? Telephone for you.” Mrs Hudson called from inside the house.  
“Alright. Sherlock, can you hold her?”  
Sherlock turned her attention to the tiny sleeping baby in her sisters arms.  
“I- ok...”  
She held out her arms, and took the small bundle. Lucy had only been born two weeks ago. Her father had never seen her. Sherlock had never imagined Mycroft as a mother, never mind herself as an aunt. But now, as she held her niece, she felt an attachment to her. She gently ran her fingers through her soft blonde hair, careful to avoid her soft spot. Her eyes opened then, crystal blue orbs, just the same as Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder what her own child would look like. And would John be the father? She felt tears creep up on her as she looked down at the baby, who had also begun crying.  
“Oh, shhh... shhhh... it’s ok...” She sobbed, rocking the baby in an attempt to sooth her. “Please don’t cry.”  
She was racking her brain for an answer when she started singing.  
“I that am lost, oh who will find me? Deep down below the old beach tree. Help succour me now the east winds blow. Sixteen by six sister, and under we go.”  
Sherlock paused her singing, and looked down at the once again sleeping baby. She sighed in relief, and slumped back in the chair.  
“Sherlock, I was thinking of taking Lucy down to the post office to have her photos done so I can send them to Greg. Would you like to post a thank you letter to John?” Mycorft asked as she made her way over to Sherlock.  
“Yes, I would.” Sherlock said, handing the baby back to her sister.  
“Was she any trouble?”  
“She cried a bit, but I got her to stop.”  
“How’d you manage that?” Mycroft asked as she sat down.  
“I sang.”  
“Oh? What did you sing?”  
Sherlock furrowed her eyebrows.  
“I don’t really know. Something about east winds.”  
Mycroft paled, all the colour in her face draining.  
“What?”  
“Nothing. Why don’t you go and write your note, and I’ll take you to the post office.”  
Mycroft refused to make eye contact as she spoke, and kept her gaze on her daughter instead.  
“Alright.”  
Sherlock left for her room, and wrote out her letter, all the while contemplating her sister’s odd behaviour. 

Dear john, 

Thank you very much for the gift. Your mother brought it over this morning. I love it. I shall never take it off. Sorry to hear about your bunk mate. Although I don’t have to worry about snoring, Mycroft’s new baby wakes me up in the middle of the night with her crying. We’re off to the post office now to have her photos done. I’ll send you one with my next letter. Wishing you the best. 

-love Sherlock x.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Eurus is not going to be important. I’ll kill her off, or something like that. I just thought it was a good song to have.


	25. I that am lost, oh who will find me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John talk on the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Is the story going too slowly? Please let me know. :)

Sherlock age: 14  
John age: 18

30th of July 1915

Sherlock had been replaying the lyrics to the song in her head over and over for weeks, and it was staring to drive her mad.  
“I that am lost... mmmmm.” She hummed as she walked around the garden.  
“Oh who will find me?”  
She found her hands going to the locket around her neck. She had been all alone in the world, and John had found her. She had sent a letter to him two weeks ago, along with a picture of Lucy, asking whether he knew the words to the song she’d been singing, but explaining a tune to somebody via a letter was rather difficult.  
“Sherlock! Come inside!” Mrs Hudson called.  
Sherlock let go of her locket, and ran back into the house, the cool metal bouncing against her sternum as she moved.  
“What is it, Mrs Hudson?” She asked as she entered the kitchen.  
“Miss Watson has come to see you. She’s in the parlour.”  
Harriet? Why was she there? Sherlock entered the parlour, and saw the blonde woman sat on the sofa.  
“Hello, Sherlock.”  
“Harriet. What are you doing here?”  
Harriet was familiar with Sherlock’s bluntness, and didn’t take offence.  
“My mother asked me to come by to tell you she’s going to telephone John this evening. She’d like to know if you wanted to talk to him.”  
Sherlock felt butterflies flapping around in her chest. She could talk to John. She looked up at the young woman who was still awaiting her answer. She looked so much like John. Sherlock would give anything to see him again, but for now, hearing him would have to do. 

*****

“Hello there, love. How are you holding up?” Mrs Watson asked, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek.  
“Well enough. And you?”  
“You know how it is.” She said, sympathetically squeezing Sherlock’s shoulder. She’d always liked Mrs Watson. She was nice to her, and always had ginger nut biscuits.  
“Come on in to the parlour, and we can talk to him.”

“Thank you very much for allowing me to come over.” Sherlock said as she sat down beside Harriet.  
“That’s Alright darling. I know you must be missing him just as much as we are.”  
The seconds they waited while the phone rang went by tantalisingly slow. But then, someone answered. The Field Marshal. He listened patiently to Mrs Watson, then went off in search of John.  
“Mother?”  
Sherlock’s heart raced when she heard his voice.  
“Oh, John darling. Are you alright?”  
“Yes, I’m fine. How are you?” He asked.  
“All is well here. We’re just happy to be talking to you.”  
She talked to him for a little while before Harriet took over for a bit.  
“Is Sherlock with you?”  
Sherlock raised her head upon hearing her name.  
“Yes, darling she is. Would you like to talk to her?”  
“Please. Alone, if you wouldn’t mind.”  
“Of course not. Make sure you say goodbye to us though.” His mother teased.  
“Of course.”  
Harriet gave Sherlock a knowing smile before steering her mother out of the room. Sherlock raised the phone to her ear with a shaking hand.  
“John?”  
“Sherlock.”  
She sighed happily when she heard John say her name.  
“John, I miss you so much.”  
“I know, I miss you too. I think about you all the time. It’s the only thing keeping me going.”  
Her heart was beating a mile a minute as he spoke.  
“I think about you all the time too.”  
“You can’t see me right now, but I’m smiling.” John chuckled.  
Sherlock laughed.  
“Sherlock, I... I need to tell you something. And you need to let me get through this.”  
“Alright.” She replied anxiously.  
“Since I’ve known you, I always knew you were special. I always knew there was something about you. I haven’t felt this way about anyone else. I guess what I’m trying to say is...” he trailed off, presumably moving his head away from the phone.  
“I love you, Sherlock.”  
She released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, her heart thumping away.  
“Sherlock, it would help if you said something right about now.”  
“Oh, Sorry.” She chuckled. “I love you too, John. Very much. Really I do.”  
She heard him laugh on the other end.  
“I’m so relieved to hear you say that. When I come home, we can be together, ok?”  
“Ok. I can’t wait to see you again.”  
“Me either. Now, we can only hope that it won’t be that long.”  
“I’ll wait for you.” She inhaled deeply. “I should probably get your mother and Harriet. They’ll want to say goodbye.”  
Mrs Watson and Harriet came in and spoke to him for a few minutes, then he was called away for some drill of some kind.  
“Thank you again Mrs Watson.”  
“No problem. Come over any time dear.”  
Sherlock slept well for the first night in a long time, both heart and mind full of John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no way of confessing love without being cliche!


	26. Caring is not an advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets better at saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy. Thanks you for the lovely comments :)

Sherlock age: 14  
John age: 18

2nd of January 1916

An empty bed. An empty coffin. An empty promise that he was coming home. Charlie Clark’s body hadn’t been found. No more car games, no more snoring. John never thought he’d miss the snoring, but it was painfully quiet now without him. Charlie wasn’t the first soldier to be lost, and he wouldn’t be the last. John had lost friend after friend. He didn’t think he could bare to see another one die. As he sat on his bunk, something Mycroft had said to him years ago came to mind. 

*********

“Thank you John for coming. You didn’t have to.” Mrs Holmes said, placing a hand on his shoulder.  
“I wanted to be here. For Sherlock.” 

Margret Jane Holmes  
1823-1909  
Beloved mother, sister and grandmother. 

“I loved her dearly, but she did drive me bonkers. Though, I suppose that’s all mother in laws.” Mrs Holmes chuckled.  
“Anyway, I won’t keep you. I’m sure Sherlock is looking for you.”  
He bobbed his head, and went off in search of the curly haired terror. He paused to look over the crowd of mourners.  
“It’s called pathetic fallacy.” A voice said from behind him.  
Mycroft was stood behind him, a blank expression on her face.  
“I’m sorry?”  
“It’s a literary term. It’s used when the weather reflects the emotion of the characters. Grey cloudy sky..” She said, pointing upwards with the unopened umbrella in her hand.  
“Your grandmother dies, and you’re thinking about literary terms? Don’t you care?”  
She looked at him with her crystal blue eyes. Although they were the same colour as Sherlock’s, hers were warm, and full of curiosity. Mycroft’s were cold, and piercing. Like a reptile’s.  
“Whether I care or not, she will still be dead. Caring is not an advantage.” 

**********

At the time, John had been horrified at her words, but now he felt he understood what she meant. Whether he cared or not, his friends would still be dead, and all the soldiers in the trenches would be their mourners.


	27. Gun to your head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John begins to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone enjoying still? Let me know if anyone has suggestions. Thanks :)

Sherlock age: 14  
John age:19

7th of April 1916 

“Congratulations first Lieutenant Watson.”  
“Thank you sir.”  
He said, shaking the hand of his Field Marshal. John knew he should be happy at being promoted, but it was meaningless. Sure, he had more privileges, but did it really mean anything? He was still just a soldier, fighting in a war. Away from his family. Away from Sherlock. God, he missed her.  
“Watson!”  
Watson. It had been a long time since anyone had called him John. He turned his head, and saw the colonel standing beside a boy.  
“This is your new bunkmate. James Thompson. Look after him.”  
“Yes sir.”  
He saluted the tall man before casting a glance to the young boy before him. He had a mop of brown hair, and bright green eyes. He had to be at least 16, but he didn’t look any older than 12.  
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m James, but my friends call me Jimmy.”  
“Right, well I’m not your friend, I’m your commanding officer. From now on, you’re Thompson.” John said coldly. He regretted his tone of voice instantly, but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t afford to care about Thompson. He would probably end up dead. There was no point getting attached. But he could have been kinder. He knew first hand how daunting it was to arrive here. You wouldn’t know how long it would be till you could see your family. You would have to sleep in a cold, hard bed. And no one could prepare you for the knowledge that death was always following you, pressing a barrel of the gun to your head, waiting to pull the trigger.


	28. Fairy tale girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s comrades learn about Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Jesus, I’ve dragged this story out. I promise i’ll jump to when John comes home in the next few chapters. Thank you for the comments! 😊

Sherlock age: 15  
John age: 19

15th of October 1916 

“I’m telling you, you ain’t never seen a pair of jugs like that before.”  
“Oh come off it, Wilson. There is no way that’s your girlfriend.”  
“She is, I swear.” The redhead boy exclaimed, crossing his fingers over his chest.  
John was used to the ‘locker room’ talk by now, but that wasn’t to say he enjoyed it.  
“Oh wow, she’s pretty.”  
“Better than you’ll ever get Thompson.”  
Thompson frowned.  
“You don’t know that.”  
“Oh come on, you’re never getting a bird like that.” Roberts teased, affectionately ruffling the younger boy’s hair.  
“What about you Watson?” The tall boy asked, turning his attention to John.  
“What?”  
“Have you got a girl back home?”  
John smiled as he thought of Sherlock.  
“I know he does! He gets letters from some posh bird all the time.” Brenton called from where he was perched on a table. “She’s got some fancy sounding name. Like she’s a fairy tale character, or something.”  
“Her name is Sherlock”. John chuckled.  
“Ooo, Sherlock.” Wilson smirked.  
“Let’s see a picture.”  
John hesitated before taking the folded photo out of his pocket.  
“Oh, she’s a pretty little thing.”  
“How old is she, Watson?” Roberts asked, his eyebrows raised.  
“15.”  
“Oooo, Nothing is like young meat.” Brenton chuckled, a suggestive smirk on his face.  
“It’s not like that.” John snapped, taking the photo back.  
“What is it like?” Roberts asked cautiously.  
John paused. There were things he’d like it to be, but Sherlock was still young. She’d need time.  
“It’s perfect. Now stop asking me questions.”  
“So, Wilson and his imaginary girlfriend, Thompson and his left hand, and Watson and his fairy tale girl.”  
She may as well have been from a fairy tale. Those always had happy endings, didn’t they?


	29. Soldiers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John asks Sherlock for a favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll switch back to writing from Sherlock’s POV in the next chapter. Hope you guys are enjoying. Xx

Sherlock’s age: 15  
Johns age: 19

25th of December 1916

Christmas Day arrived just as it did every year, but the blanket of snow brought frostbite, the smell of turkey replaced with gunpowder, and the Christmas carols were sung with horse voices, barely holding on.  
“Lieutenant Watson! Parcel for you!”  
John raised his head from his bunk, and took the parcel extended to him.  
“Thank you Thompson.”  
Thompson was a bright young thing, who was still enjoying the adventure that he was told war would bring.  
“Merry Christmas, sir.” He said, beaming up at John.  
Thompson was just a boy, his first Christmas at the front. John was used to the hardships of war by now, and he had scars to prove it.  
“Wait.” John called.  
Thompson turned back to face John.  
“Yes sir?”  
John reached under his pillow, and threw down a packet of cigarettes.  
“Merry Christmas.”  
He looked down at the packet in his hands.  
“Thank you sir.”  
John nodded in dismissal. Once Thompson left, John opened the parcel.  
Chocolate bourbons.  
John felt warmth spread through his heart. She remembered. There was a note tied to the parcel. 

Dear John, 

Merry Christmas. This is your third at the front. I can only pray you’ll be home for the next. I’ll try and telephone you later. I miss the sound of your voice. 

-lots of love Sherlock xxx

He missed her so much. He hadn’t seen her in over three years, and it was killing him. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling as he waited for sleep to come. He was on duty tonight, and he needed rest. He was just drifting off when Thompson came back in.  
“Sorry to disturb you sir. Telephone for you.”  
Sherlock.  
John marched swiftly to the phone, his heart thumping.  
“John?”  
He felt his whole body light up upon hearing her voice.  
“You know you’re the only person who still calls me that?”  
Sherlock sighed happily.  
“How are you?”  
“I’m good.” He said calmly. He wouldn’t tell her how much he was suffering. She didn’t need to hear about the sleepless nights, the heartache, the homesick.  
“And you?”  
“I’m ok. Lucy doesn’t cry in the night anymore. She’s talking now though.”  
John smiled.  
“Wow. Honestly, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that Mycroft has a kid.”  
Sherlock chuckled.  
“Yeah, none of us can.”  
“Thank you for the biscuits. I’m sorry I couldn’t send you anything direct. Unless you’d like bullet shells, or a pack of cards.”  
She giggled on the other end. Sherlock’s laughter was the single best sound he had ever heard, and her smile the best thing he’d ever seen.  
“Hey,” He said, and idea coming to mind. “Can you do something for me?”  
“Sure. What is it?”  
“Can you send me another photo of you. One where you’re smiling.”  
Sherlock hesitated for a moment before answering.  
“Why...?”  
“I haven’t see your smile in a long time.”  
Sherlock heard johns voice crack, and it pulled at her heart strings.  
“Of course I can.”  
She tried not to sob. John didn’t need to hear her crying. He didn’t need to know that the crying extended into the night because of the heartache, the sorrow, the pain.  
“I’ll go to the post office tomorrow.”  
“Watson!”  
John turned his head to see a broad soldier standing a few feet away.  
“Yes Sargent?”  
“Break time’s over.”  
“John?” Sherlock asked, voice anxious.  
“I have to go.”  
“Oh. Alright.”  
“Goodbye, I guess.” John said sadly. “Oh, and Sherlock.”  
“Yes?” She answered eagerly.  
“I love you.”  
“I love you too. John.” She added with a chuckle.  
John hung up, and went to his room to get his jacket. When he wore this uniform, he wasn’t John anymore, he was a soldier.

“A soldier fights for his country.”

The words of his field Marshal rang in his ears as he did up his buttons. 

“A soldier fights for his king.  
A soldier fights for his comrades.  
Yesterday, today, and tomorrow; we are soldiers.”

John stared at himself in the small mirror on the wall. 

“And to hell with what happens to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys like the little paraphrasing there? 😆


	30. The home guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock begins to worry after having not heard from John for a few months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Sherlock age: 15  
Johns age: 20

8th of May 1917

Sherlock was sat on her front lawn supervising Lucy. Supervising may have been a loose term. She was reading a book while Lucy played with a doll. She flinched when she felt a droplet of rain fall on her nose. She turned her face towards the sky. A few more droplets fell. She scooped Lucy up in the blanket, and carried her indoors.  
“Has it started to rain?” Mrs Hudson asked as she came through to help Sherlock with the door.  
“It has.”  
“That’s England for you.” She sighed as she closed the door behind her.  
“What a shame. Your mother has made some brownies. She was hoping you’d cycle down to the home guard with them.”  
“I still can after it stops raining. It’s only drizzling anyway.” Sherlock said as she tried to pull Lucy’s arms off her neck.  
“Alright dear. Tin is on the counter when you’re ready to go.”  
Mrs Hudson smiled warmly at her, and waved to the blond toddler who was now dancing about Sherlock’s long legs.  
“Auny sherwy?” Lucy garbled, looking up at Sherlock with her big blue eyes. “I have one?”  
She pointed to the tin on the counter, and rubbed her tummy.  
“You really are your mother’s daughter, aren’t you. Mycroft always did have a weakness for cake.”  
Sherlock sat with her while she ate, although most of it ended up going around her mouth rather than in it. She turned to look at Sherlock with a broad, chocolate covered grin. Sherlock felt her heart rench as she looked at the happy child. Oblivious. She’d give anything to be that shielded from the world once more. She hadn’t heard from John in four months. If she was oblivious, she wouldn’t have jumped to all the tragic conclusions on what had happened to him.  
“You have some?”  
Sherlock snapped her attention back to the infant in her lap.  
“No, no you have it.”  
Lucy chuckled, and shoved the last piece into her mouth with a sigh of appreciation.  
The rain subsided within the hour. Sherlock handed Lucy over to Mrs Hudson, then went into the kitchen to retrieve the tin. She went out to her bike, strapped the tin in her basket, and cycled off down the lane, careful to avoid the puddles.  
“Ah, Sherlock! What’s your mother sent you with?”  
Mr Holmes walked over to greet his daughter, and help her down from her bike.  
“Brownies.”  
“Oh, lovely. Stay for a cuppa?”  
“I wouldn’t say no.”  
She followed her father into a gazebo, where he poured out some tea for them.  
“What oh, George.” A blond man said in passing.  
“Afternoon Charles.”  
Sherlock raised her head, and turned to look after him.  
“One moment father.” She said as she jumped up.  
“Mr Watson! Mr Watson!”  
He stopped, and turned to see the gangly teenager running towards him.  
“Oh, hello Sherlock. Sorry dear, was that you in there with George?”  
She nodded.  
“Blimey, you look so grown up. I didn’t recognise you.”  
She smiled as best she could. Mr Watson had been like an uncle to Sherlock, but she hadn’t seen much of him since war broke out.  
“Anyway, What was it you wanted dear?”  
She hesitated for a moment before asking her question.  
“Have you heard from John?”  
Mr Watson pulled his lips into a line.  
“No, no I haven’t.”  
She guessed this would be the answer, but she’d had a little hope.  
“Oh.”  
“I’ll let you know if we hear anything, of course. You write him a lot, don’t you?”  
“I do.” She said sadly, fiddling with the hem of her dress, trying not to think about the three unanswered letters she’d sent.  
“I’m sure he’s just a little busy.”  
Mr Watson didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t lying as he spoke. He knew Sherlock would see straight through it. There was no deceiving her. She headed back to her father, her stomach sinking, and her heart crumbling.


	31. Duty calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad news for Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John will be returning soon! God, this story ended up being way more depressing than I planned.

Sherlock age: 15  
John age: 20

30th of May 1917

It was a dreary Sunday. The sun was blocked by the clouds, and there was a chill in the air. Sherlock had chosen to stay indoors, and was sat in the parlour knitting a scarf to send to John.  
Mycroft appeared in the doorway after a moment.  
“Lucy down for a nap?”  
“She is.” She nodded to Mrs Hudson.  
She walked over, and sat down next to Sherlock.  
“That for John?”  
Sherlock looked down at the kaki garment in hand.  
“Yes. By the time I’m finished with it, it’ll be cold enough for him to need it.”  
Mycroft knew Sherlock started the scarf a few months back, but she kept getting distracted, ever the procrastinator.  
“Are you making tea?” Sherlock asked as she spotted Mrs Hudson in the kitchen.  
“I am, but you’re not having anymore.”  
Sherlock looked over to the cup beside her. It was the third she’d drunk that day. She looked back to Mrs Hudson with puppy dog eyes.  
“Oh go on then. But that’s enough. You’re cut off after this.” Mrs Hudson laughed.  
“Have you done your homework?”  
Mucorft was looking over at her, eyes searching hers.  
“Yes.” Sherlock nodded as she finished another row of knitting.  
She knew this was Mycroft’s way of checking she was ok, and keeping on top of things. Mycroft didn’t ask anymore questions, and stayed quite for a moment, just looking down at her shoes.  
“Here you are love.”  
Mrs Hudson placed a cup of tea in her hands, and gently squeezed her shoulder.  
“Last cup.” She said as she placed another cup down in front of Sherlock, trying to sound stern, but a smile tugged at her lips.  
“Thank you.”  
She pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s temple, then returned to the kitchen.  
Mycroft’s head snapped up when she heard Lucy crying.  
“Duty calls.” She mumbled, putting her cup down.  
“Oh bugger.”  
“What’s wrong Mrs Hudson?” Sherlock asked, turning her head towards the kitchen.  
“I thought there was more milk. Shop will be shut tomorrow.”  
“I’ll go up to the shop.” Sherlock said as she walked in.  
“You sure, darling?”  
“Anything for you Mrs Hudson.”  
Sherlock smiled softly at her, and went out to the hall. The postman was outside when she opened the door. In his hands, he carried a stack of parcels, and letters. 

And a yellow telegram. 

“That’s not for my sister, is it?” She asked cautiously.  
“No, miss.” He said, his voice was reassuring, but the next words out of his mouth were anything but. “It’s for next door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! ☺️


	32. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Watsons receive a telegram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Sherlock age: 15  
John age: 20

31st of may 1917

Yellow telegrams sometimes said someone was missing. More likely they said someone was dead. And sometimes that someone who’s missing ends up dead. 

Sherlock couldn’t move. It felt like she’d been thrown in to an ice bath. The blood in her veins froze, her limbs seized up, her whole body went numb. Time seemed distorted. Things were happening around her, but she couldn’t focus on those things, only the things in her own head. 

John was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for short chapter. Will update twice to make up for it.


	33. Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to cope with John’s absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Thank you for the kudos and comments :)

Sherlock age: 15  
John age: 20

13th of June 1917

“Sherlock? Are you listening to me, darling?”  
Sherlock turned her head to face her mother.  
“What?”  
“I asked you what you wanted for dinner? Mrs Hudson said you could have anything you wanted.”  
“I can’t eat, mother.” Sherlock mumbled.  
“Sherlock,” Her mother started. “You have to have a little faith. He’s missing. There’s still hope.”  
Sherlock rolled her eyes.  
“Have a little faith?” She asked mirthfully.  
“What’s the point in that?”  
Her gaze was cold, and steely as she stared at her mother.  
“Because,” She placed her hand on her daughters arm. “It means you haven’t given up on him.”  
Sherlock felt her heart seize.  
“Of course I haven’t.”  
Mrs Holmes moved closer to her, and put an arm around her.  
“I’m going to see Mrs Watson. Will you come with me?”  
Sherlock shook her head, keeping her eyes trained on the space in front of her.  
“Alright. I’ll let her know you send your love. Try and occupy yourself, mmm?”  
She pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock heard her leave through the front door, and watched as she walked down the path. She decided to take her mother’s advice, and took up her knitting. The pain in her wrists came and went by the hour, but she didn’t notice. Knitting would give her something to do, but all the tasks in the world wouldn’t change the fact that nobody knew were John was.  
“Sherlock, dear. Dinners on the table.”  
She looked up to see Mrs Hudson staring sadly at her.  
“Don’t look at me like that.” She said flatly. “It’s more than I can bare.”  
“Sorry darling. Please come and eat something.”  
Sherlock took a deep breath. She put her knitting down, and followed Mrs Hudson in to the kitchen, where a mushroom and chicken pie sat on the table.  
“Thank you.” Sherlock smiled softly at Mrs Hudson, and sunk down in a chair.  
“Eat what you can dear. Your mother is staying next door for dinner, and your sister took the baby out, but I’ll come and sit with you.”  
“Ok.”  
Sherlock stared down at the plate of food in front of her, and picked up a forkful. She hesitated for a moment before forcing it past her lips. She only managed to swallow another two mouthfuls before she felt sick. She pushed the plate away from her, and took a big gulp of water.  
“You Alright dear?”  
“I’m sorry, I can’t eat anymore. I have to go lie down.”  
She pushed her chair back, scratching against the floor. Once inside her room, she slammed the door shut, and fell back against it, slowly sliding down to the floor. Tears fell like a river from her eyes, sobs racking her body.  
“Where are you John?” She wailed.  
“One miracle for me, John, please.”  
She brought her face to her hands to dry her eyes on the heal of her palms.  
“Don’t be dead.”


	34. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock receives news on John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

29th of June 1917

Drip. Drip. Drip. Rain stormed down outside, teaming and torrenting. Sherlock had stopped crying days ago. She’d run out of tears. That first night, she stayed slumped against her door all night, eventually drifting off into a fitful sleep. She left her room on occasion to eat and drink, but she didn’t say a word to anyone. The whole world was passing by, people talking, going to work, just going about their lives, and it didn’t mean a thing to her. The only thing that mattered was John. She remembered the last letter she sent to him. 

Dear john.

I’m getting worried about you. Please let me know if you’re ok. 

-love Sherlock xx

That evening, she’d gone to her trinket box. That was were she kept all the letters from John. It was also were she kept all the gifts from him. Wrapped in a square of velvet was the telescope he’d bought her for her birthday. She’d gone up to her window, and looked out at the stars. She knew it was cliche, but she couldn’t help but wonder whether John was looking up at the same stars. 

“Sherlock, darling, you need to come downstairs.”  
Mrs Hudson was in the doorway. Sherlock furrowed her brows.  
“Now.”  
Her heart sank. She jumped up, and followed Mrs Hudson down the stairs.  
Harriet was stood in the living room with her mother and Mrs Holmes.  
“Sherlock, why don’t you sit down.”  
“What’s happened. Is it about John?”  
“You should sit down.”  
She hesitantly walked over to her armchair, and sat down.  
“Is he ok?” She blurted out, tears brimming in her eyes.  
The three women all looked at each other, but didn’t say anything.  
“Well is he?!”  
Harriet moved to crouch down beside her.  
The blonde inhaled deeply.  
“They’ve found him.”  
They’d found him. Shouldn’t they all be happy?  
“What? What’s wrong? Is he...” she couldn’t bring herself to ask if he was dead.  
“Is he alive?”  
“Yes, sweetheart, he is.” Mrs Holmes said.  
“What is it then? Why are you all acting like this?”  
Harriet spoke again this time.  
“He’s been shot. We don’t know how badly he’s been hurt.”  
Sherlock exhaled a shaky breath.  
“But he’s alive. We know that.”  
“Ok.” Was all she could answer.  
“We’ll know more soon. You’ll know as soon as we do, ok darling?” Mrs Watson said softly.  
Sherlock nodded slowly.  
He’d been shot. Shot, not killed. She’d been granted her miracle. He wasn’t dead.


	35. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Johns home! All happy nonsense now! Or is it?

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

3rd of July 1917

Sherlock had sat by her window all morning waiting. Waiting for John.  
She’d stayed awake most of the night before, anxious to see John again. She hadn’t seen him since he was 17. He was nearly 21 now. She hadn’t felt like celebrating her own birthday, and the day had just passed by like any other. She’d been too worried about John to do anything about it. She didn’t need to be worried now. He was coming home. She didn’t need to worry. He’d be ok now, wouldn’t he?

Her mother appeared in the doorway, a sad smile in her face.  
“Well?” Sherlock asked cautiously.  
“He’s home.”  
Sherlock didn’t bother waiting for any more information. She ran out of the house without her shoes, or a coat, ignoring the chill down her spine, and the rocks under her feet. She knocked frantically on the door till the housekeeper came to let her in.  
“He’s in the living room, Miss.”  
She knew johns house as well as her own, her legs taking her where she needed to go. Was he ok? How badly was he hurt? Would he be happy to see her? He heart pounded in her chest, her mind swirling, gasping for breath. 

She opened the door to the living room,  
and there,  
propped up on the sofa,

was John.


	36. Appointment in Samarra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLASHBACK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who got all poetic and tragic? 😆

15th of April 1917

FLASHBACK

Gunfire raged loudly, the humdrum roar of the tanks deafening, the smell of blood,  
and sweat nauseating. Dead soldiers littered the floor, limp, like rag dolls left out in the cold, their blood staining the crisp snow beneath Johns shoes. He pulled his jacket tighter, hugging it to his shivering form. He forced his legs to keep moving, keep walking, closer to the army base. He knew he couldn’t sit down, he knew he wouldn’t get up again. So on he went, trudging through the bloody snow, stepping over the bodies of his fallen comrades. There were Germans too. These were the men he’d played football with on that first Christmas when they’d stopped fighting for one day. Like small children, fighting over a toy. Except they weren’t children, they were men, and they were fighting for their country. He paused when his eyes fell on a familiar mop of brown hair. Thompson. His bright green eyes were still open, still glistening. John felt his heart rench as he looked down at the boy. He looked even younger in death. Despite his better judgment, John got down on his knees.   
“You died fighting for your king and country. That’s an honour.”   
That’s what you’re suppose to say, but it didn’t feel right.   
He hesitantly reached out to close Thompson’s eyes.   
“You’re a good man, Jimmy.”   
John got to his feet with some difficulty, then reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. The packet was empty for all but one. He held the final cigarette in his hand for a moment.   
“This one is for you, Jimmy.”  
He inhaled the smoky air, breathing it down, warming his insides. He put his feet together, and brought his hand to his head in a parting salute.   
He turned on his heel, and continued his path through the battlefield. He guessed he should consider himself lucky. He’d been captured, and interrogated over the last few months. He’d only just got away. He was lucky compared to some. Some didn’t escape at all. He knew he couldn’t think about that now. All that mattered was getting home. Home to Sherlock. He inhaled deeply as he thought of Sherlock. Beautiful Sherlock. Had she changed a lot? What did she look like now? She’d be nearly 16 by now. He knew he’d see her again. He knew he would. With his new found determination, he picked up his pace. The ground beneath his feet held memories of the battles fought there, the air carrying the smell of death. Death was following him as he walked, he knew that. He couldn’t outrun it, so he simply continued walking. As he walked, he called to mind a story Mycroft used to tell. The appointment in Samarra.  
You cannot outrun death, but you can, however, move the appointment.   
He could feel death right behind him this time, the barrel of the gun pressed against his skull.   
BANG!  
Death pulled the trigger.


	37. PART 3 Soap and Brill cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John reunite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a long time, didn’t it? No, you don’t get your happily ever after just get. Mu ha ha ha.

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

3rd of July 1917

Sherlock paused in the doorway when she first saw him. His hair was over grown, so much so that it dangled over his eyes. It was darker than before, long gone were the golden curls that used to make him look like a cherub angel. He didn’t look like that anymore. He was a man now. He’d showered and changed in to pyjamas, but he hadn’t shaved. He had stubble along his jaw as he occasionally did, but it looked straggly, instead of rugged. John looked up upon noticing her. His eyes were dark, and sunken. Haunted.  
She just stood there, frozen, staring at him. This was a man who’d seen the hardships of war. Her breath hitched when he spoke.  
“Sherlock.”  
His voice was gruff, and shaky, but yet it sounded familiar. He slowly held his arms out to her, and she all but fell into them. She couldn’t help but bawl her eyes out onto his shoulder, grabbing at his shirt, her whole body shaking. John wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking in between her shoulder blades. They didn’t need to speak. Besides, there weren’t any words to describe how either of them felt. If there were other people in the room, she didn’t notice. All that mattered was John. She’d heard his voice, she’d seen photos, but nothing compared to being in his arms again. He smelt of soap, and Brill cream as she nuzzled in to his neck. That was one thing phone calls and letters could’t give her. The other was his heart, pounding in his chest, right up against hers. She didn’t want to let go. She was afraid that if she let go, she’d lose him. When she did eventually pulled back, she kept her hands on his arms. Her eyes were red and puffy, her throat raw, tears still streaming down her face.  
“I’m so happy you’re home.” She finally choked out.  
He reached out to stroke her cheek.  
“Me too.”  
And for the first time in over three years, Sherlock leant in, and connected their lips in a kiss. Johns lips were warm, chapped, but still soft, and exactly how she remembered. She broke away for breath, and pressed her forehead against his.  
“I’ve been wanting to tell you this in person for so long. I love you John. So much. So much.”  
John looked deep into her eyes. There were tears brimming in his own.  
“I love you too.” He chuckled, brining a hand up to cup her cheek. “I haven’t gone a day without thinking about you.”  
“Nor I.” Sherlock smiled.  
John kissed her again, and smiled into it this time. When he pulled away, he just stared at her, his eyes running over her face.  
“What?” She asked.  
John snapped his gaze back up to her eyes.  
“I can’t believe how lucky I am that I got to see you again.”  
Sherlock felt tears begin to flow from her eyes again.  
“I really thought I wouldn’t for a moment.”  
Johns voice cracked as he spoke.  
“Well I’m here.” Sherlock said slowly.  
She took johns hand in hers, and placed it on her heart.  
“I’m here.”  
John smiled through his tears.  
Sherlock allowed her eyes to wander him fully for the first time. It was then that she noticed the bandages on his shoulder and his leg.  
“You’re injured.”  
John inhaled shakily.  
“I am.”  
She paused for a moment, and inhaled deeply.  
“God, sorry did I hurt you when I hugged you?”  
John chuckled weekly.  
“It’s ok.”  
“What happened?” She asked, sitting back on her heels.  
She sat there in tears as John recounted his story of capture and torture to her. When he stopped answering her letters, she’d assumed the worst. She hadn’t been far off. The pair sat for a hours, swapping stories. Sherlock told John about the brief month she’d belonged to the girl guides. She’d been praised for her abilities to remember long messages, and pass them on, but she’d been dismissed after telling one of the scouts he was a simpering idiot, who made the dog who tagged along by his heels look like a genius, on the grounds that it was ‘unladylike’. He laughed as she recounted the time Mycroft got arrested. She’d joined the sufferagets, and had been carted off by a police officer after thumping him with her umbrella. That was also, no doubt, ‘unladylike’.  
As she spoke, John couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She had the same beautiful cat eyes as always, that appeared blue and gold from some angles, and almost silver from others. Her hair was longer than before, and fell in neat curls on to her shoulders, framing her face, which had got longer, and more angular. Her figure had filled out, her blouse and skirt advertising the swell of her hips and breasts. She was most definitely a young woman now. Sherlock listened intently as John told her a selection of somewhat sugar coated stories. They were sugar coated not for her sake, but his own. He wouldn’t mention the cold that made you wish you were dead, the huge rats, the grotesque smell, the lice, the bodies, none of it. He couldn’t. His body visibly tensed, his eyes glazing over.  
“John?”  
Sherlock’s voice, and her hand on his stopped him from spiralling further.  
“Are you ok?”  
“Yes.”  
John ignored his left hand as it spasmed.  
“Yes, I’m fine.”  
Mrs Watson knocked on the door after a moment drawing their attention. In her arms, she carried bed linens.  
“John darling, are you sure you’ll be alright down here?”  
“Yes, mother.”  
Sherlock looked at him, questioning.  
“Bad leg. Can’t walk up the stairs.” He shrugged meekly.  
“Oh.” Was all she said.  
Mrs Watson set up the sofa opposite them with some help from the housekeeper.  
“It’s nearly ten o’clock. Early night for you I think.” Mrs Watson said in a soothing tone. “Sherlock, dear, you’re welcome to stay if you’d like. We could put you up in the spare room.”  
Sherlock turned to look at John. His grip on her wrist tightened.  
“I want to stay with John.”  
Mrs Watson smiled sadly at her. She could see how much the girl truly loved her son. She highly doubted there would be any ‘funny business’.  
“Alright.” She said softly. “I’ll have lily make up the other sofa.”  
“Thank you.” Sherlock added after a moment.  
Mrs Watson smiled, then left with the housekeeper.  
“I should probably go home and get a few things.”  
She shuffled forwards on her knees, and pressed a kiss to johns lips.  
“I’ll be right back.”  
“Ok.” John smiled.  
He watched her go out the door, then sat back in the chair to wait for her. He’d seen her again. She was here, and she still loved him. That was all he could ask for. When she came back a few minutes later with an overnight bag, the other sofa was set up, and Mrs Watson was loitering in the doorway. Sherlock went in to another room to get dressed, then came back and sat herself on her bed for the night.  
“John, darling.” His mother started. “Can you manage getting on to the other sofa?”  
John went to stand up, but winced in pain, and sat back down.  
“I’ll go get your father.”  
Mr Watson came through the door a few moments later. He said a brief hello to Sherlock, then turned his attention to his son. With the help of his father, John managed to limp over to the other sofa. While she watched him moving, Sherlock noticed something odd about johns injury, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.  
“Alright, we’ll leave you two to it.”  
Mr and Mrs Watson bid them both goodnight, then left them alone in the dark.  
“John?” Sherlock called after a moment.  
“Yes?”  
“I missed you.”  
She heard John chuckle softly.  
“I missed you too.”  
Sherlock wrapped the blankets tightly around herself, and the steady rhythm of Johns breathing eventually lulled her to sleep.


	38. Goodnight john

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comforts John his first night home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitter sweet chapters. Gotta love ‘em. Thank you for the comments 😊

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

4th of July 1917

Rustling of blankets woke Sherlock from her slumber for the first time. She didn’t pay much attention, and swiftly drifted back off. The second time, she was awoken by mumbling. She opened her eyes, and saw John tossing and turning on the sofa across from her. He went quiet again, so she fell back to sleep. Barely minutes later, she woke for the third time. This time it was screaming. She jumped from her bed, and went to johns side.  
“John? What is it? What’s wrong?” She asked, eyes searching his. He wasn’t looking at her though. His eyes were wide, and looking straight ahead of him.  
“John?”  
She reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched with a yelp.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  
She remained still, just watching him, her heart breaking. He calmed down after a moment, and turned to look at her.  
“Sherlock?”  
“Yes?” She answered eagerly.  
“Where...”  
“You’re home, John.”  
She reached out to touch him again. He didn’t flinch this time.  
“Home.” He said, almost questioning, looking all around him.  
“Yes. Home.”  
John looked straight at her then, unconvinced. Anyone could see the fear in his eyes, and it just broke her.  
“Hold on a moment.”  
She got to her feet, and walked across the room to her sofa. She grabbed the duvet, and her pillow, and grabbed something from her overnight bag. When she returned to Johns side, he was laying down, staring at the ceiling.  
“Here.”  
She lay out the duvet and pillow, then sat down beside him, and lay the garment from her bag over him. It had started off as a scarf, but from all the panic knitting, had developed into a blanket.  
He looked down at the blanket, then turned to look at Sherlock. He reached out to stroke her cheek, which was adorn with fresh tears. She closed her eyes, and lent into his touch.  
“Thank you for waiting for me.” John said quietly.  
“Of course I waited.”  
She looked up at him in earnest, eyes brimming with tears. She placed her hand on the one that was cupping her cheek, and kissed it.  
“Good night, John.”  
He smiled weakly at her.  
“Goodnight, Sherlock.”


	39. Battle scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of being back home starts to hit John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this got pretentious at the end. I do apologise.

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

5th of July 1917

The next morning, Sherlock awoke before John. He was sleeping soundly, his hand hanging off the bed, still clutching hers. She squeezed his hand gently before letting go, and getting up to go in to the kitchen. Mrs Watson was sat at the table with Lily.  
“Good morning Sherlock.”  
“Morning.”  
“Is John still sleeping?”  
Sherlock nodded, and took a seat next to Mrs Watson.  
“Would you like some tea, Miss Sherlock?” Lily asked.  
“Please.”  
She smiled at Sherlock before going over to the kettle.  
“How did you sleep?” Mrs Watson asked.  
“Fine.”  
“And John?”  
Sherlock inhaled a steady breath.  
“Fine.” She lied.  
Mrs Watson reached out to squeeze Sherlock’s hand.  
“I’m so glad he has someone like you to love him.”  
Sherlock looked deep in to her eyes. She was sincere.  
“I really do. Love him.”  
Mrs Watson smiled.  
“I know.”  
She let go of Sherlock’s hand when Lily brought the tea over to them.  
“There’s enough left for master John when he wakes up.”  
“Thank you Lily. Be sure to have a cup yourself dear.”  
Lily sat down on the other side of Mrs Watson, and poured herself a cup.  
“I’m a little cold. I’m just going to fetch my dressing gown.” Sherlock said, then left the room.  
John was still asleep when she entered the living room, but he woke when she riffled through her back.  
“Sherlock?” She heard him call from behind her.  
She spun around to face him. He looked different somehow, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.  
“Did I wake you?”  
“No.” He winced when he sat up, his arm moving up to tentatively touch his shoulder.  
“Are you ok?” She asked, getting up to be by his side.  
“I need to have my bandages changed. My mother needs to contact a nurse.” He flinched when he ran his fingers over a particularly sensitive spot.  
“I can do it.”  
He turned to look up at her, and furrowed his brows.  
“I did training with the girl guides. It was about the only useful thing they taught me. So, I can do it. If you don’t want me to-“  
“I want you to.”  
John looked up at her with sincerity, his gunmetal blue eyes wide.  
Sherlock pulled her lips in to a smile, one that John returned.  
“I’ll just get some supplies from kitchen.”  
She explained what she was doing to Mrs Watson, and she gave her the first aid kit from on top of one of the kitchen cupboards. She walked back to the living room slowly, bracing herself. Was she ready to see johns souvenirs from war?  
When she entered the room, John was staring at a blank space on the wall in front of him.  
“John?”  
He jumped, and placed his hand on his heart.  
“Sorry.”  
He shook his head, mumbling words of reassurance that could either be directed at her or himself.  
“I’ve got supplies from the kitchen. Do you want to prepare yourself?”  
John nodded, and took to unbuttoning his shirt buttons. Sherlock watched from the corner of her eye as more of John’s body was revealed to her. He had a set of well developed muscles, covered by lightly tanned skin, and covering his skin were tens of scars. Sherlock felt her breath hitch as she took in the sight of him. Johns eyes met hers, a sad smile tugging at his lips.  
“Do you remember when all my scars were from rugby?”  
Sherlock drew her lip in between her teeth as she stared down at him.  
“Yes.”  
“These are something else, aren’t they?”  
Sherlock nodded.  
“They’re battle scars.”  
John stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes searching Sherlock’s.  
“Indeed.”  
Sherlock turned her attention to the freshest looking wound on his shoulder.  
“Shrapnel.” She said, not questioning.  
“Yes.”  
“And your leg. That’s where you were shot.” She said, again, not asking.  
John pulled his lips in to a line, and nodded his head.  
“I’ll see to this one first.”  
John nodded, and moved over to allow Sherlock to sit beside him. She unraveled some bandages, and opened up a packet of gauze.  
“This will sting. I apologise in advance.”  
John nodded but didn’t say anything. It seemed that the initial ‘excitement’ of coming home had warn off, and the realisation of what had happened to him was hitting him full force. She cleared her thoughts, and peeled back the patch on johns shoulder to reveal a substantial flesh wound that she guessed was about two weeks old. John winced, and she apologised. That pattern repeated as she finished dressing the wound. When she was done, she moved on to a few other nicks and cuts.  
“Can I change the bandages on your leg?”  
John’s breath hitched. He swallowed thickly before nodding his head.  
“It’s umm... just below my knee.”  
He bent forwards, and rolled up his pyjama trousers, revealing a strip of bandages tied round his leg. Sherlock slowly unwrapped them, all the while keeping her eyes focused on Johns face. He wasn’t looking at her, instead he was staring off in to space. She paused when she saw the small patch of bloodied gauze. What was underneath was the reason John had come home. She tentatively peeled it back. Just under johns knee cap was a patch of red skin, and there, in the middle, was a bullet wound. Sherlock normally didn’t have a problem with blood, and injuries, and yet found herself frozen to the spot. But it wasn’t the wound itself, it was everything it represented. Something so small had done so much damage, and regardless of its size, John had been shot. For the past three years, he was in a place in which he could be shot; killed. Sherlock tried not to allow her face to show how she was feeling. She chewed her lip between her teeth, and gently dabbed a washing cloth  
to the skin around the wound. John gritted his teeth, and balled the duvet in his fists.  
“Sorry.”  
He shook his head, and inhaled sharply.  
“It’s fine.”  
She was all too glad to be finished, and packed away the supplies quickly.  
“Thank you.”  
“It’s no problem. I’m just glad I can help.”  
She cautiously placed her hand on John’s other knee, and smiled when he placed his hand over hers. He seemed to have relaxed a little since that morning, the physical pain distracting him from the emotional.  
“There’s tea for you in the kitchen. Shall I bring it in for you?”  
John chewed the inside of his cheek.  
“If you don’t mind.” Sherlock furrowed her brows at John’s manner, but didn’t pay it much attention.  
“Here.” She said once returning with the tea.  
“Thank you. Chocolate bourbons?” He asked, taking one of the biscuits in hand.  
Sherlock nodded, and settled down on the floor in front of him with her second cup of tea.  
“Like the ones you gave me for Christmas.”  
“Yes.”  
John smiled warmly at her this time.  
“Thank you.”  
Sherlock smiled back.  
“You’re welcome.”  
They sat in a comfortable silence while they drank their tea, and ate their biscuits, but Sherlock had far too many questions to keep quiet.  
“John, can I ask you something?”  
He looked up from his teacup, and quirked his eyebrows in confirmation.  
“You’re not going back, are you?”  
John chewed the inside of his cheek again for the umpteenth time, the skin probably raw by now, and shook his head.  
“Doctors say I’ll be lucky to walk again.”  
Sherlock’s breath hitched, sadness ebbing at her, but she wouldn’t let it show on her face.  
“So, no. I won’t be going back.”  
Sherlock reached out to touch his hand, and gently squeezed one of his fingers before taking both of their tea cups back through to the kitchen.  
“You haven’t met Lucy yet.” She said flatly.  
“You’re right. I haven’t. I would like to though.”  
He smiled softly at her, then looked up at the doorway where his mother had just entered.  
“I was just wondering if either of you wanted anything to eat?”  
Sherlock noticed John wince beside her, then shake his head.  
“No. No thank you.”  
“I’m fine thank you, Mrs Watson.” Sherlock said, her peripheral vision still picking up on John’s manner.  
“Actually, I’m going to go back home and get changed. Is it alright if I come back?” She asked.  
“Please.” John said suddenly, looking up at her with his blue grey eyes. They use to remind her off a calm, picturesque evening by the sea, the waves gently washing up to shore; but now, she could see their was a whole thunderstorm chopping the waves, sending them crashing down on to the beach, and john, a lonely little boat, lost at sea, trying not to capsize.


	40. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns to comfort John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, and the sucky summary. Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

8th of July 1917

“Are you staying down stairs with John again?”  
Sherlock looked up from her tea at Mrs Watson, and nodded.  
“I appreciate how dedicated you are to him, darling. I wish I could stay with him, but my back can’t handle the sofas.”  
Sherlock was sat in the dining room with Mrs Watson whilst a nurse saw to John’s wounds. Sherlock would have been happy to continue, but Mrs Watson said she couldn’t ask that of her. She didn’t like the nurse. May Darson. Sherlock had never allowed jealousy to affect her, but she found herself glaring daggers at the redhead through the window whenever she pulled up on her bike.  
“Sherlock, you needn’t worry. I only have eyes for you.” John tried to reassure her, affectionately squeezing her hand. She furrowed her brows.  
“Mmmm... but what about her eyes?” Sherlock muttered.  
She sometimes wondered what it must be like to be able to leave somethings to the imagination. She could tell May liked John. She could always tell.  
“It doesn’t matter. I love you, and only you. Although, I must say...”  
Sherlock quirked her eyebrows, daring him to continue. “It is rather amusing for me to see you being possessive. Who would have thought. Sherlock Holmes. Jealous.”  
Sherlock glared at him, but a grin pulled at her lips.  
“I have a right mind to pour that tea in to your lap, John.”  
He chuckled as he took a sip of said tea. Sherlock felt sadness ebbing at her as she watched him. He could sit here with her, laugh and joke, and everything was fine. Then he’d fall asleep, and down in to the hollow pit of nightmares from which he couldn’t escape. She wished she could help more. She couldn’t wake him up when he was dreaming in case he went in to shock. All she could do was listen to him scream and cry, waiting for him to wake up. She could reassure him when he woke up, hold his hand, kiss his cheeks, tell him he was safe.  
“Are you Alright?”  
Sherlock snapped her attention back to John. He was regarding her with worried eyes, scanning her face.  
“Yes, yes I’m fine. Just... thinking.”  
Later that night, Sherlock was tucking herself in to her make shift bed. The sofa, although very wide and spacious, hurt her back too, although she wouldn’t admit it.  
John had already dozed off, and was sleeping soundly on the other sofa. She knew it wouldn’t last. It would only be a few hours till he was up again. She tried not to think about it as she settled down, and waited for sleep. 

Just as she’d grown accustomed to, she was awoken by screaming. She quietly got down from her bed, and went to meet Mrs Watson in the hall way.  
“I can’t bare to hear him cry like that.” Mrs Watson had tears in her eyes as she spoke.  
“I’m his mother. A mother is supposed to be able to comfort her child when they cry. I don’t know how to help him.”  
Sherlock stood in silence, unsure of how to respond. Before she could come up with anything, the room went quiet. Sherlock was first through the door, closely followed by Mrs Watson. John was sat bolt right up, white as a sheet, eyes wide and bloodshot. When he was like this, Sherlock wasn’t sure he could even see her in the room. Although he was awake, he was still very much lost in his own head. It took a few moments for his breathing to return to normal, and for him to start blinking again. Sherlock slowly walked over to his side, and sat down on the floor. After a moment, john reached out and slowly entangled their fingers, words unnecessary. He didn’t need to tell her he needed her. She already knew that.  
Mrs Watson just stood, and watched. She couldn’t comfort him like Sherlock could. This alone amazes her. She’d known her since she was very small, and was very accustomed to Sherlock’s blunt, seemingly emotionless manner, but yet she was there, by John’s side, mumbling words of reassurance to him. After a nod from Sherlock, Mrs Watson crept out of the room, and left them to it.  
“I... I was...” John gulped, his voice shaky. “I was walking... I was... I had my gun... and he was just there... pointing his gun at me...”  
Sherlock bit back her tears as she tried to bring John back down from his hysterical fit.  
“I didn’t want to do it... He’ll never come home now. His family will never see him again. They’ll just be sat there waiting... waiting for him to walk through the door. But he won’t.”  
John grasped at Sherlock’s wrists, almost to a painful extent.  
“Because I killed him.”  
Sherlock closed her eyes, unable to look in to John’s any longer, unable to see the horrors playing out behind them.  
“I killed someone. I ended someone’s life. Somebody died because of me.”  
Sherlock gripped his hands back.  
“I’m a murderer.”  
“No.” She said suddenly. “No, John. You killed him, yes. But you did it because you had to. You’re not a murderer. He would have killed you.”  
“And that makes it ok?”  
“I never said it was ok.” Sherlock shook her head. “I just said it was what you had to do.”  
John gritted his teeth, and swallowed.  
“It’ll take a long time to come to terms with it, but you’ll get there. You didn’t murder anyone.”  
John relaxed his grip on her wrists, and his body slumped back.  
“I didn’t murder anyone.”  
“No.”  
John shuffled forwards then, and dropped his head on to Sherlock’s shoulder. She nuzzled him affectionately, and wrapped her arms around him. John pulled back after a moment, but only to pull Sherlock on to the sofa with him.  
“Stay.” Was all he said.  
Sherlock careful positioned herself on the sofa in a way that John’s leg wasn’t at risk of being kicked. John wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She lay still, staring off in to the space in front of her while she waited for johns breathing to even out. It was gentle, and warm on the back of her neck as he fell asleep, his grip on her never loosening. It was almost as though he was afraid that if he let go for even a second, he’d lose her. She knew the feeling. She snuggled closer to him, and fell asleep herself, john’s heart beating rhythmically against her back.


	41. It is what it is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a minor melt down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short. Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

10th of July 1917

Despite her protests, Sherlock had been sent to school. She spent the entire day worrying about John, and accidentally wrote his name down as the answer to an algebra question. ‘What must it be like to be in a war?’ She wondered as she stared down at her English book. Although John was home now, there was still a fight going on inside his mind. She could practically see the cogs turning in his head throughout the day.  
“Class dismissed.”  
She grabbed her things, and raced out to her bike before anyone could stop her. Lily let her in, and took her through to John who was in the kitchen.  
“You’re up.” Sherlock smiled as she went to sit down next to him.  
“I am.”  
He looked well rested. There were still bags under his eyes, but he looked rather refreshed. Sherlock’s eyes drifted down to his left hand which was spasming.  
“Are you Alright?”  
“Yes.” He said shortly, putting his hand in his pocket.  
Sherlock didn’t question him further, and instead went to change out of her school uniform.  
“How was school, dear?” Mrs Watson asked.  
“It was fine, thank you.”  
“I’m just off to the shops. Will you two be alright?”  
“Yes I believe so.”  
“Do you want anything dear?”  
“No thank you, Mrs Watson.”  
Sherlock waved her off as she left down the lane, then went back in to John. He was staring down at the table, his eyes glazed over. His breathing was ragged, and harsh.  
“John...?” Sherlock asked softly.  
He snapped out of his daze, and looked up at her with his gunmetal blue eyes, tears brimming in them.  
“Are you ok?”  
He opened his mouth to say something, his lips quivering. He closed his mouth again, unable to get the words out.  
“John?”  
That was when he burst in to tears.  
“John- oh god.”  
Sherlock quickly wrapped her arms around him, and held him tightly to her.  
“I... I... I can’t...”  
“Shhhh, it’s ok. You don’t have to talk about it. It’s ok.”  
He buried his face in her neck, and let the tears flow freely. Sherlock put her hand on the back of his neck, and the other on his shoulder.  
“It’s ok.”  
“No, it’s not.” He sobbed.  
“No, you’re right. It’s not. But it is what it is.”


	42. Gooseberry jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

17th of July 1917

That was the first day John left the house. He was bound to a wheelchair, but he’d been responding well to physiotherapist, and there was hope he would be walking again within the year. Sherlock had barely left his side. Neither her mother nor Mrs Watson said anything about it, and simply let her do as she pleased. She’d been going to school begrudgingly, then racing back to John. She would be leaving school in a few months anyway, but for now she was stuck. Then of course she’d be off to finishing school, then university. She’d always looked forward to the later, but now the idea of leaving John was almost unbearable. When she got home, John was waiting for her by the back door. They’d originally gone out on the premise of picking gooseberries for Mrs Holmes to make jam, but the amount obtained seemed rather sad, and were now sat having afternoon tea on the lawn. Mycroft was due over any moment with Lucy but she was late as she often was since the arrival of the latter.  
“So, what’s the verdict?”  
“What?”  
Sherlock looked up at John who gestured to the basket of soft fruits.  
“Oh. Ummm... very small jars of jam? Or one really big jar. Either way, not much jam.”  
“Shame. Your mothers gooseberry jam is to... die for...” John trialed off, eyes flickering round the garden.  
Sherlock reaches over to grab his hand. It wasn’t spasming. Initially she’d believed it was a form of PTSD, but then she’d noticed that when he was stressed, like in moments such as this one, it stopped.  
“He’s not haunted by the battlefield. He misses it.”  
That’s what Mycroft had said when Sherlock had mentioned it to the wiry woman. It had taken the younger of the two a while to fully piece together why on earth would he miss it. He seemed perfectly traumatised to her. Then she realised that it was the lifestyle, the adrenaline, the sense of being part of something. That’s what he missed. Compared to all that, sitting in the garden of your country estate in sunny Shropshire might just be a bit boring. Sherlock knew all about being bored. There were moments when she felt like she’d go insane from all the normality and simplicity of the events unfolding around her. She thrived on the complicated, the unusual, the unsolvable. She lived for adrenaline highs.  
“Oh, would you stop with your bally crying?”  
The pair both looked over to see Mycroft walking up the drive, shouting in to a pram.  
“I graduated with honours, and yet I can’t stop this child from crying.”  
Mycroft looked as immaculate as always with the exception of her eyes, which ever so slightly crazy. One was bigger than the other, and she wasn’t blinking.  
“I could give it a try.”  
Both sisters turned to look at John. His gaze was fixed on the small baby who was kicking and screaming in her pram.  
“Be my guest.”  
Mycroft took Lucy from her pram, and gently placed the fussing infant in John’s arms before all but collapsing in to a lawn chair. John gently rocked Lucy back and forth, making soothing sounds as he did.  
Mycroft raised her head in disbelief when the crying ceased.  
“Oh that’s not cliche at all.” She mumbled as she indignantly shoved a whole teacake in to her mouth.  
Sherlock knelt up from the blanket to lean on Johns arm.  
“She’s asleep.” She chuckled.  
“That’s it. I call witchcraft.”  
John chuckled much to Mycroft’s dismay.  
She shoved another teacake in to her mouth to avoid the possibility of saying something hateful.  
“She’s very cute, Mycroft.” John beamed, gently stroking the sleeping baby’s cheek.  
“She has to be. Otherwise the temptation to put her in the oven would win. How do you suppose Sherlock made it past infancy?”  
Sherlock frowned at her sister and slumped down against johns chair.  
“I take it motherhood isn’t your favourite thing?”  
“What was your first clue?”  
“Just a hunch.”  
“So, where’s Harriet?” Mycroft asked after a moment.  
“She went in to town with a friend. Clara something or other.”  
The expression Mycroft pulled next was one that appeared almost hopeful. Sherlock couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She didn’t pay any mind to it, and went back to watching Lucy. Mycroft left shortly after Lucy woke up to feed her. She also took the gooseberries with her to give to her mother.  
“I remember when you sent me some jam last summer.”  
John was staring down at his lap as he spoke.  
“When my parents sent me things I’d often trade them for cigarettes or something. But I always kept everything you sent me.”  
Sherlock pulled her lips in to a crooked grin. John smiled when she pressed a kiss to his temple, and turned his head so she could kiss his lips.  
“I’m glad. Those chocolate bourbons were expensive.” She teased.  
John rolled his eyes before pulling her up from the floor to sit on his lap.  
“Do you have any idea how much I love you?”  
Sherlock grinned.  
“I have a pretty good idea.”


	43. The date part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Sherlock on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late and kinda short. Hope you enjoy anyway.

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

23rd of July 1917

The last day of school rolled around eventually. It dragged on for what felt like days before finally coming to a signified end with the loud ringing of the bell. Sherlock was looking forward to the summer and spending time with john. When she got home, he was alone in the kitchen drinking tea.  
“Finally over.” She sighed as she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.  
“I’m glad.”  
He beamed up at her, and stroked his thumb over her cheek.  
“I ummm... I thought we could go out for dinner tonight.”  
Sherlock quirked her eyebrows at him.  
“Really?””  
“Well, if you want to. I mean, I’ve never actually taken you out on a date... but if you don’t want to, I-“  
“John.” She silenced him. “I’d love to.”  
A grin broke out on the blond’s face.  
“Ok. Great.” He chuckled.  
“I guess I’ll go home and get changed.”  
She pressed a parting kiss on johns lips before departing. 

No dresses. No dresses that were right for a date, anyway. She’d never needed one before, and now... now she was screwed.  
“Why does it look like a hurricane has struck your room?”  
Sherlock looked up from the pile of clothes strewn about her room and over at Mycroft who was leant against the doorframe.  
“I don’t know what to wear.”  
“What for?”  
Sherlock chewed the inside of her cheek.  
“I’m going on a date with John.”  
“I see.” Mycroft said, casting her eyes down at the clothes surrounding her sister on the floor. “Wait here a moment.”  
She left down the corridor leaving Sherlock to state after her. When she returned, there was a maroon dress draped over arms.  
“I thought you could wear this.”  
Sherlock glanced between the dress and her sister’s face, clearly surprised. Mycroft rolled her eyes, and held the dress out to the younger girl.  
“Isn’t this what sister’s are meant to do?”  
Sherlock took the dress, and held it up in front of her.  
“Looks good.”  
“I... thank you.”  
Mycroft smiled softly, and affectionately squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder.  
“I’ve never seen you wear this before.”  
“Yes, well I bought it before I got pregnant, then it didn’t fit me, and now everything I wear gets spit up on it, so...”  
Sherlock chortled.  
“Somebody should wear it. I’m sure John will love it.” 

The dress was perfect. It was a beautiful colour, and it fit almost perfectly. Mycroft was right; John was going to love it.  
When she got to his house, no one answered the door. She knocked again, but to no avail.  
“You look beautiful.”  
She spun around, and there, standing at the gate, was John. He was standing up, his wheelchair no where to be seen.  
Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh as she walked over to him, nor could she help the tears that sprung from her eyes when he began to walk towards her.  
“You’re walking!” She exclaimed, ignoring her usual hatred of stating the obvious.  
“Walking is a loose term. I’d say hobbling.”  
Sherlock shook her head as she swung her arms around his neck.  
“Careful.” He chuckled as he gripped the walking stick at his side.  
“Well then, my darling.” John stated with a thick, posh accent. “The night awaits.”


	44. The date part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets jealous on their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

23rd of July 1917

“Well, That was rather lovely.”  
“Indeed.” John grinned at Sherlock in the candlelight, his eyes soft, warmer than they’d been in a long time.  
“What would you like for dessert?”  
Sherlock glanced down at the menu, the brownie and ice cream taking her eye.  
“Shall we have this to split?”  
“Excellent taste.”  
“You sound like waiter full of fake compliments.” She chuckled.  
John chortled, and shook his head.  
“John,” Sherlock sighed. “Thank you for taking me out. I’m so glad we finally did this.”  
John practically beamed as he reached across the table for her hand.  
“Me too.”  
John suddenly broke his gaze, and looked just behind her head.  
“What’s wrong?” The brunette asked, turning to see what he was looking at.  
“Nothing, Nothing.”  
John beckoned her to turn back around by squeezing her hands.  
“John.” She said somewhat firmly, her eyes searching his.  
He sighed in defeat.  
“The man over there has been staring at you since we came in.”  
Sherlock furrowed her brows. She knew better than to turn around again as it would be blatantly obvious. Sherlock was no stranger to unwanted attention, and saw this situation as no different to the others.  
“Don’t let that ruin our evening, mmm?”  
John shot one final glare in the direction of the man before facing Sherlock again.  
“You’re right.”  
“I always am John, you should know that by now.”

After dessert, the pair got up to leave, John still focused on the man. He was evidently on a date with a blonde whom he had seemingly little interest in as he was paying more attention to Sherlock than to her. Just as they were about to leave, John caught him staring at Sherlock more intensely. John normally wasn’t a petty man, but this was rubbing him up the wrong way. He made sure the man was watching as he pulled Sherlock to him by the waist, and pressed his lips up against hers. She was surprised at first, but melted in to the kiss after a moment.  
“He’s glaring at us now.” John chuckled quietly.  
“Let him.”  
Sherlock smirked devilishly before pulling John to her again by his shirt collar. The couple left hand in hand, running, well, hobbling in Johns case, down the road in a fit of giggles.


	45. Good at goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John find themselves in the familiar situation of saying goodbye to one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock age: 16  
John age: 20

4th of September 1917

Finishing school. Also known as ‘obedience school’. Sherlock didn’t want to go for so many reasons. She didn’t want to leave John. She didn’t want to leave her house. She didn’t want to learn to walk with a book on her head. How was that helpful? She was currently trying to squash the contents of her suitcase down so she could close it.   
“Bally thing!” She shouted as she forced her elbow down on it.   
“Well, you know it’s a good day when you walk in on the love of your life shouting at an inanimate object.”   
John was leant against the door way, a smirk on his face.  
“You know you could help me.”  
“I’m aware.” He grinned as he slowly walked over to her. “But I’d rather watch.”  
“You...”  
“Mmm?” John queried as he stepped closer, daring her to continue.   
Sherlock looked up at him with a coy smile.   
“Am I really the love of your life?”  
John’s lips pulled in to a broad smile.   
“Of course you are.”  
Sherlock giggled as John pulled her to him by the waist, and placed a kiss on her lips.   
“I love you too.”   
John pressed a kiss on her nose before moving past her to push down in the case.   
Sherlock did the clasps up with ease after that.   
“Thank you.”  
“I didn’t want to help. Feels like we’re just packing you up. Don’t really want to speed that process along.” John stated sadly. “If you wanted to go, I’d keep this to myself, but...”  
“I know, I’d sooner shave my head than go there.” Sherlock mumbled, then paused as she noted the randomness of her own expression.   
John chortled, and threw his head back.   
“I’m going to miss you.” He said after a moment.   
Sherlock worried her lower lip between her teeth.   
“I’ll miss you too. I’ll come home and visit, and... well you can’t actually come and see me... I guess I could sneak out to see you.” Sherlock said with a smirk.   
“Mmmmm... that’s hot.”   
Sherlock giggled as John pulled her closer and pressed a kiss on the sweet spot where her ear met her neck.   
“Mmm, John...”  
“What? Do you like that?”  
“Maybe...” she murmured, rolling her neck.   
“Sherlock!” A voice called from downstairs.   
John quickly pulled away. Sherlock giggled at the slightly perplexed look on the boy’s face, then turned her head towards the hall.   
“I suppose I’d better go down. Come with me?”   
“Yeah, of course.”  
John followed her in to the hall, and took her arm as they walked down the stairs.   
“You’ll need to get going if you want to catch your train, please tell me you’re ready.”  
Sherlock sighed deeply.   
“Yes.” She muttered tersely.   
She felt John tensing beside her, and immediately reached for his hand.   
“Perhaps John, would like to take you to the station?”   
The blond in question nodded quickly.   
“That is of course, I am not robbing you of the opportunity, Mrs Holmes.”  
“Not at all, darling.” She smiled softly at him. “You will be grateful for the time together, I’m sure.”  
Sherlock turned to look at John, who smiled back.   
“I assume Sherlock has informed you of the rules. No male visitors, I’m afraid. There will be plenty of opportunity for me to spend time with her then. You take her dear.”   
Sherlock had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the conversation.   
“Does that sound alright to you, sherl?” John asked, refraining from using another, more intimate pet name for her in her motjer’ presence.   
“I wish nobody had to take me, as I wish I wasn’t going-“ Sherlock cut herself off when she saw her mother looking disapprovingly at her. “Yes, John I’d appreciate that greatly. Thank you.”  
Mrs Holmes smiled affectionately at the pair before going in to the kitchen.   
“Are you sure you’re alright?”   
“Yes, I just... Well, you know.”   
John pulled her close and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head.   
“I know.”  
Mrs Holmes returned after a moment with a tin.   
“Some food for the train. Now, remember to share.”  
One would have thought a sixteen year old wouldn’t need to be told to share, but Sherlock had always been a little different.   
“I know.” She grumbled as she shoved the tin somewhat unceremoniously in to her messenger bag.   
Sherlock was not looking forward to the train journey. She would take the small train in to town, where she would meet a teacher and the other children, with whom she would spend her next year with. The odds were she would have annoyed everyone on the train so much so that she would have little chance of befriending them when they arrived at the school.   
“Well, then, you’d best be off my darling.”   
Mr Holmes had said goodbye to her before he’d left for the home guard that morning, but she still needed to say goodby to Mycroft and Lucy. She and John briefly stopped by on the way to the station. Mycroft almost seemed sad to see her little sister go. Sentiment was never something present with Mycroft, and yet her face was definitely more solemn than normal. Lucy was too young to understand, and sat quietly at her aunt’s feet, playing with her shoelaces. They arrived at the station, and quickly bustled on to a train in to town.   
“We’ve got about half an hour just sitting in the station now.”  
Sherlock nodded as she stared blankly out the window, watching the scenery fly by.   
“Fancy an ice cream?” John asked when they got off the train.   
“I’d love one.”   
They walked along the platform hand in hand to the ice cream cart, then sat down on a bench with their desserts.   
“Do you want some of mine?”   
John presented his spoon to Sherlock.   
“Mint choc chip? I don’t think so.” She laughed as she shook her head.   
“You can try mine though. Mine’s not a mix of coco and toothpaste.”   
John chortled as he leant forwards to taste Sherlock’s strawberry ice cream.   
“Thanks.”   
Sherlock smiled, and pressed her cold lips to his nose.   
“Only a few minutes now. Better hurry up.”   
After Sherlock had finished off her ice cream, they set off to look for the head teacher and Sherlock’s further classmates.   
“Young lady? Are you to be travelling with the party?” A blonde woman in a skirt suit asked. She was surrounded by a group of girls and an assortment of parents, friends and siblings.   
“Yes.” Sherlock said flatly as she scanned the crowd of girls.   
John could tell she was deducing every single one of them as she stood there, her eyes flickering around.   
“Name?”  
“Sherlock Holmes.”   
“Right, well, I’m Mrs Robins. And this is?” She asked, turning to look at John.   
Sherlock wasn’t quite sure what she should say. Their nearest and dearest knew of course, but that was it.   
“A good friend.” John answered for her. “Her mother asked me to accompany her.”  
Sherlock knew that wasn’t all they were to each other, so it didn’t matter what the rest of the world knew. She knew, and John new. 

The train pulled in to the station right on time, much to Sherlock’s disappointment. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him. Not again. She could only hope he wouldn’t try and throw himself on to the tracks like she did. She brushed off the thought and simply tightened her grip on her suitcase.   
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?”  
“Do you even need to ask me, John?”  
The blond shook his head.   
“You’ll be home for holidays, won’t you?”   
“Yes. Every single one.”  
John relaxed a little, and even a small smile tugged at his lips.   
“Hurry it up now, girls. Say your goodbyes.”  
Other girls were embraced by their relatives, laughing, crying. They were all occupied with their own goodbyes, so John took advantage of the moment, and leant forwards to press a soft kiss to Sherlock’s lips.   
“I love you.” He said quietly.   
“I love you.”  
John kisses her forehead, then pulled apart before anybody could notice them.  
“Alright, last goodbyes, then on the train with the lot of you.”   
Sherlock squeezed johns hand before getting on the train with the other girls. He waited on the platform to wave her off, watching her train as it departed. Then, he walked home with his head hung, hoping no one noticed the lag in his step, or the tears streaming down his face.


	46. Christmas holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and john’s relationship gets a little more physical...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

18th of December 1917

Sherlock was coming home for the Christmas holidays, and John had gone to collect her from the station. He was desperate to see her again. He’d missed her so much, and although her letters declaring her loathing for the other children was a great source of amusement, nothing compared to holding her in his arms. His face lit up the moment he saw her get off the train. She ran over to him and practically leapt in to his arm.  
“John! I missed you so much!”  
“Sentiment? Who are you, and what have you done with my Sherlock?” John laughed as the brunette buried her face in his neck.   
She quickly silenced his laughter by pressing her lips to his.  
“I missed you too.”  
Sherlock smiled and leant her head against John’s.  
“Come on then.”   
John took her trunk with one arm, and wrapped the other around Sherlock’s middle.   
“So, need I ask?”  
“Oh it was bally awful.” Sherlock muttered as they stepped on to the bus.  
John noticed she was more rigid than normal when they sat down.  
“Are you Alright?  
“Yes, it’s just this flaming corset.”  
“Oh, you wear one of those now?”  
She inhaled deeply before mumbling a ‘yes’.   
“So, we’ve got you for three weeks.” John stated as they walked down the quiet street.   
“Indeed. Did you have something planned?”  
“Yes... as a matter of fact I did.”  
Sherlock giggled when John pressed a kiss to her neck.   
“Oh yeah?”   
He grabbed her by the hand, and pulled her, squealing and giggling, in to an alleyway.   
“Yeah...”   
“Oh...”   
He knew every soft spot of hers, just where she liked to be touched, kissed.   
“John...” She moaned softly as he pushed his hips to hers, pressing her in to the wall.   
She didn’t care if anyone saw them, and neither did he. As she ran her tongue along his lips, John couldn’t help but note that finishing school hadn’t changed her at all.   
“God I missed you.”   
“I can tell.” Sherlock giggled before looking down in between them then back up in to johns eyes, a sultry grin on her face.   
“Sorry about that.”   
“I don’t mind. Actually, it’s quite nice to know I have this effect on you. I know you do on me...”   
John was watching with hooded eyes as Sherlock ran her hand down his chest.   
“Definitely helped me get through these past few months...” She drawled.   
Johns eyes flew wide when he realised what she was getting at, but before he could comment she’d grabbed his hand and was pulling him down the street while he desperately tried to hide his arousal with his coat.


	47. The nostalgia of smoking and drinking under a table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John get wasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Sorry for the long wait 💛

26th of December 1917

Boxing Day, although not as bad as New Year’s Day, is a close second for the worst hangovers.   
Sherlock wasn’t new to being hungover, but this was definitely worse than before. Perhaps that was due to the drinking game she and John had started. 

“Shhh, no, no. You have to throw it like this...” Garbled John as he tried to prise the dart off of Sherlock.   
“I know what I’m doing! Shh... no, Hey!”   
Sherlock had abandoned her heels somewhere in a corner, her curls, now shoulder length, were half tied up in a bun, half hanging over her eyes, and she had been sipping at a glass of Buck’s Fizz in whilst she aimed about four inches away from the board.  
Every time one of them missed, they took a swig. After the first few misses, the gaps between swigs got a lot shorter.   
Drunk Sherlock was more aloof than sober Sherlock, and she certainly had lowered inhibitions in this state.   
After Sherlock had thrown a dart at Mycroft (it was still undecided whether that was an accident or not), the pair had ended up in her father’s study.   
They were sat under his desk, bursting at the seams with giggles as they drank a bottle of off limits scotch.   
“Hey, do you... do you mind if I smoke?”   
Sherlock puffed some air out of her mouth in indifference and shook her head.   
John took a pack of cigarettes, gifted to him by his uncle, from the inside of his coat. He took a deep inhale, embracing the nostalgic feeling of smoke filling his lungs. 

Trenches.  
Comrades.   
Smoking.   
Drinking.   
Cold.   
Rats.  
Dirt.  
Blood.  
Shooting.  
Death.

He could feel himself spiralling, his head spinning as he felt himself tumbling through the abyss-  
He started when he felt Sherlock’s hand on his arm.  
“You ok?”  
He took another deep drag, his hands shaking as he brought his hand back down.   
“Yes, Yes I’m fine.”   
Sherlock didn’t look to convinced, but her liqueur addled brain quickly switched her focus to the lit cigarette between John’s fingers.   
“Can I try?”  
John looked between it and Sherlock before handing it to her.  
“Just breathe it in.”  
She took a drag before immediately spluttering and coughing.   
“Ugh!” She exclaimed as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.  
“Try it again.” John nodded, guiding her hand back up.  
She eyed him for a moment before taking another inhale. She didn’t cough this time, and instead let the smoke envelope her insides.   
“Damn...”   
She took one more puff before handing it back to John.  
“Hey, give me the bottle. Hogger.” She hissed as she made a grab for it.   
She took a swig before reluctantly handing it back to John.  
“You know John...?”  
“Mmm?” The young man murmured, rolling his head down to look at her.  
“You are incredibly handsome.”  
John found himself chuckling as he shook his head.  
“And you, my dear, are very beautiful.”  
“What a coincidence?!” She exclaimed, slapping her hands down on her knees with great vivacity, making her intoxicated companion jump.  
“Sorry, Sorry.” She giggled, supporting her weight on his arm.   
“John...?”   
“Mmm?”  
“Kiss me.”  
“Yeah, ok.”   
John hastily pressed his lips to hers, sloppily carving out her lips with his tongue. She didn’t seem to mind, and happily opened her mouth to allow him more access.   
Soon, she was leant back against the table with John knelt in between her legs, assaulting her kiss bruised lips, hands in her hair, on her face, her waist.   
The touch of his hands on her body made her feel euphoric, ecstatic, aroused.   
Unfortunately for them, an extremely drunk Harriet appeared in the doorway.  
“Hey, I know you two went in here... even though I can’t see you... ummm... there’s like cake? And ummm you have to be there... I don’t...” she murmured before departing down the corridor.   
“We should probably get out there before somebody sober comes looking for us.” John sighed.  
“Is anybody here sober? I know I’m not.” Sherlock giggled as the pair wobbled in to the hall.   
“True... let’s try and... rectify? I want to say rectify...?”  
“Yeah, that’s the right word.”  
“Yeah? Ok, yeah I think we should rectify that with cake. Soak up the alcohol.”   
John’s plan didn’t exactly work out as it turned out the cake was rum cake, a fact they failed to notice with their dulled taste buds.   
Everything already tasted like booze.   
That was how they’d ended up collapsed, wrapped in each other’s arms on the sofa.  
Mrs Hudson and Mycroft were stood in the corner watching the pair.   
“I’m so happy she has him. Aren’t you, dear?”  
“Happy?” Mycroft mused. “I feel something much akin to the emotion. I will say though, that I’m glad she has somebody besides myself to burden with her absurdity.”   
Mrs Hudson couldn’t bring herself to abolish the older Holmes child, and instead went back to affectionally gazing at the youngest.   
Sherlock would be back at boarding school soon. John couldn’t bare to think about it, so instead he shut it out of his mind, and just pulled her closer.


	48. Sherlock, sherlock, let down thy hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John pays Sherlock a visit and things heat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a smutty one, but if you don’t want to read it, it’s not so key that if you skip it, the next chapter won’t make sense; It’s really more of a bonus chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

January 3rd 1918

This was a stupid idea.  
John knew it was a stupid idea.  
He repeated this sentence to himself again and again as he slotted his shoe in to each foothold of the wall trellis under Sherlock’s window, and he knew it was her window because of the beautiful, ornate telescope in the window.  
Although he was rather worried his leg would give out, he continued to pull himself up the superficial ladder.  
He reached the top, and there she was.  
Dressed in her nightgown, Sherlock was sat on the bed, book in hand.  
A quiet tap on the window had her look up, her cerulean eyes flying wide in both shock and joy.  
She crossed the floor in a pace or two, and opened the window, which thankfully, slid up instead of opening out.  
“What are you doing here?” She questioned in a hushed whisper as John scrabbled through the window.  
“You climbed up the trellis...?” She said in a half query as she looked past him and out in to the dark.  
“Well, I did not think I would climb your hair.”  
“Sherlock, Sherlock, let down thy hair.”  
She mused, a faint smile playing on her lips.  
She paused for a moment before returning her gaze to him.  
“I cannot believe you came all the way up here.”  
“What can I say? I missed you.”  
Sherlock grinned and pressed a kiss to his cheek.  
“I hate being away from you.” She murmured against his jaw, his stubble grazing her skin.  
“And I You.”  
When she pulled back to look at him, his eyes were sad and bleary, a thousand thoughts and memories washing across his vision as he stared at the young woman before him.  
He reached forward to cup her face, his thumb circling her cheeks.  
“I’ve loved you since we were children. Obviously in a very different way to the way I love you now, but I loved you all the same.”  
Sherlock grinned, and leant in to kiss him, soft, and tentative.  
“You’re so beautiful. So clever. So talented. So strong.” John murmured between kisses. “And I love you more than anything.”  
Sherlock felt her heart pounding in her chest as she looked in to his eyes.  
“I love you, John.” She said simply.  
There was more she wanted to say, but she could tell john knew every word without her speaking them. He could see it in her eyes, in her coquettish smile.  
She kissed him again, for longer this time, and flung her arms around his neck before moving him backwards and pushing him down on to her narrow single bed.  
John reached for her hips, and pulled her in to his lap.  
Sherlock experimentally opened her mouth, opening Johns with it, and slipped her tongue passed his lips. He moaned softly.  
He was clearly surprised, but he relaxed after a moment, and started kissing her back.  
They’d never kissed like this before, sober anyway.  
It was exciting, arousing, thrilling.  
She felt every nerve in her body singing as their tongues danced together.  
It was sweet and gentle as they took their time to explore each other’s mouths. Sherlock eventually pulled back for breath and pressed her forehead against John’s whilst her mind raced.  
“Stay.”  
Her voice was a breathless expression of demure as she searched John’s eyes, waiting for his answer.  
“Stay?”  
“Yes. Stay.”  
John didn’t manage a verbal answer and instead crashed his lips back to hers, pulling her as close to him as possible by her hips.  
Sherlock slowly shuffled in his lap so she was straddling him, her knees either side of his hips.  
She gingerly rolled her hips against him, causing him to moan.  
She could feel his erection pressing against her abdomen with each movement.  
She hesitantly brought her hands to the bottom of his shirt, and slid her hands up his chest.  
Johns was astonished at this, and he would have thought on this a little longer had he nod been immediately distracted by Sherlock biting his lip and drawing it in to her mouth.  
He groaned softly, arching his hips up in to hers.  
The kisses were more passionate and heated now, desperate even.  
Their tongues fought for dominance, their teeth clacking.  
Sherlock undid the buttons of John’s shirt with haste, and pulled it down his arms before blindly throwing it behind her.  
John brought his hands down to her knees, then slid them up her legs, hiking her skirt up in the process.  
She groaned in to his mouth as he hitched it up around her waist, his hands coming to rest on her thighs.  
He’d never touched her there before.  
She wanted more.  
She used his shoulders to lift herself up, and rearranged herself so her legs were wrapped around his waist. From this angle, she could feel his erection poking in between her legs.  
She moaned his name softly, briefly parting their lips.  
“My blouse... take it off.” She panted.  
John hastily undid the ornate buttons of her blouse, and threw it across the room.  
Her corset pushed her breast up in the most delightful way, practically spilling over the top. His hormones were raging, the sight before him somewhat maddening. The only downer was that he’d still have to figure out how to take it off. He sighed in exasperation when he realised what a task that would be.  
“Off.” She said definitely, obviously following his thoughts, and guided his hands round to the fastenings.  
After a lot of fumbling, cursing, and giggling in Sherlock’s case, he managed to free her from the fabric cage.  
“Bally corset.” He grumbled, and cast it aside.  
Sherlock grinned, and pressed their lips back together.  
She still wanted more.  
She grabbed johns hands, and brought them up to her still clothed chest.  
“Sherlock...” he groaned happily.  
She squeezed his hands over the soft mounds of flesh, moaning at the new sensation. She brought her hands back down after a moment, trusting him to continue his ministrations without her guidance. He was kissing her feverishly, thrusting his tongue in to her mouth, making her arch her back in pleasure.  
“More.” She panted desperately.  
He paused for a moment before running his hands down her body to where her slip was tucked into her skirt. He slowly pulled it off, revealing her milky skin inch by inch. He couldn’t help himself from staring at her newly revealed breasts. They were of ample size, round and pale, tempting, with dusty rose coloured nipples on the top. He licked his lips subconsciously as he sat there, mesmerised.  
“Touch me John.”  
John felt his heart skip a beat.  
He looked up at her, and saw that her eyes were wide, dark with lust, and deadly serious.  
He pressed their lips back together before bringing his hands up to cup her breasts.  
She shivered under his touch, and moaned sharply into his mouth.  
They were soft and warm, and fit perfectly in his hands.  
He could feel himself throbbing between his legs as he touched her, this new experience mind blowing.  
“John...” she moaned, keening in to his touch.  
She was rolling her hips against his again, causing maddening friction.  
It felt so good.  
‘More, more, more’, Was all her brain told her as she rocked.  
Before she could really comprehend what she was doing, she thrust her hand in between johns legs.  
He gasped out a moan, and threw his head forwards.  
“Oh god...”  
Pleased with his reaction, Sherlock began squeezing his bulge through his trousers.  
“Sherlock...”  
His hands had stilled, and were now gripping her ribcage just below her breasts, his nails lightly digging in to her skin.  
She paused after a moment, and brought her hands up to his shoulders. She broke away from the kiss to bring her lips down to his neck, sucking sharply on the skin.  
“Sherlock- Mmmmm...”  
John began rutting against her, meeting her hips as she rocked.  
“Oh john...”  
This time, John brought his lips down to her neck.  
She gasped out a moan, and threw her head back. He continued his descent down her torso, sucking on her pulse point, nipping softly at her collar bone, slipping his tongue between her cleavage.  
“Oh Jesus!” She cried out when he placed his mouth round one of her nipples. “John!”  
She fisted his hair in her hands, tugging pleasurably at the roots.  
Johns hands were on her waist, controlling the speed at which her hips moved. His tongue flicked her nipple as he sucked on the mound, all the while using his hand to massage the other.  
“Oh...” Sherlock hummed, her hips bucking.  
John switched to suck on her other breast, lightly grazing the skin with his teeth.  
“Oh god... ah...”  
John pulled away to capture her lips in another kiss, hungry and desperate. Sherlock brought her hands down between them, and began fiddling with johns zipper.  
“Sherl...”  
John had his head thrown back, his eyelids fluttering as Sherlock worked his zipper undone. After some shuffling about, she managed to pull them down his legs. She could see his erection straining against the confines of his cotton briefs clearly now.  
“Can I-“  
“Please.” John said quickly, no care to how desperate he sounded.  
She moved her hand down, and gingerly wrapped it around his clothed cock.  
“Oh god-mmmmm...” He moaned, balling the bed sheets up in to his fists.  
“Please.”  
Sherlock was both eager and nervous as she began to slowly pull down his briefs.  
She felt her breath hitch as she took in the sight of him. John was of average height, but he had always been broad and muscular, so it was no surprise to her that he was generously endowed. Between his legs was eight inches of thick cock. She felt all her instincts kicking in, telling her to touch him. She began forcefully kissing him before wrapping her hand around him.  
“Oh fu-“ He groaned loudly. “Mmmm...”  
He was warm and hard, throbbing and pulsing. He switched between staring up at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut as she began to move her wrist.  
“Mmmmm...”  
She pumped her wrist up and down a few more times, emitting moans and sighs from John as she moved.  
“You might want to stop... or this is going to be over before it even starts.” He chuckled somewhat nervously as he pulled his briefs back up.  
“Oh, Sorry.”  
“No, no, don’t be sorry. I just...” He cooed softly as he leant in, his lips grazing her ear. “Want you to feel just as good.”  
Sherlock gasped out a strangled moan as John sucked at her pulse point and leant her backwards on the bed. He pulled his briefs off before leaning in, pressing their lips back together, and trapping her between his arms that were situated either side of her head. He was settled between her legs, leaning on her pubic bone, her skirt hiked all the way up her hips. He moved one hand down her side, then up her thighs. She hummed happily in to his mouth, lifting her pelvis slightly to grind against his.  
“Mmmm...” He moaned appreciatively, responding with a thrust of his own.  
After a moment, John managed to pull her skirt down, then made a start on her underwear.  
“Are you wearing two pairs of underwear?” John asked curiously, pulling back to glance down between them.  
“No, that’s my suspender belt. It- it unhooks at the back. Ugh. Here.”  
She gripped Johns shoulders, and lifted her hips up to allow him to reach round under her. John could have sworn that in addition to the corset, her clothes were designed to be as difficult as possible to take off.  
“I kinda want to leave these on.” He smirked as he looked at the lacy waistband.  
“Oh do you?” She teased, reaching down to stroke his cheek.  
“I think it’s very hot.”  
Sherlock giggled, and ran a hand through John’s hair.  
“It’ll be even hotter when I don’t have these on.” She said as she guided his hand back to the waistband of her underwear.  
“I agree.”  
John got her to lift her hips again as he pulled the delicate, cotton garment down her legs. This was the first time he’d seen her like this. Exposed. Apart from the stockings and the belt that held them up, she was completely naked.  
He was dumbfounded, and like most adolescent males would be, extremely turned on.  
“You’re so beautiful.” He said finally, using all his will power to look up from between her thighs.  
He leant in and reconnected their lips before she could answer. He ran his fingers down her abdomen, and began to trace patterns on her pubic bone.  
“Mmmmm...” She moaned, lolling her head to the side.  
“Can I try something?”  
“What?”  
“Let me show you. I think you’ll enjoy it. May I?”  
Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, and let a breathy ‘yes’ fall from her lips. John joined their lips in a passionate kiss as he brought his hands to the apex of her thigh. He thrust his tongue in to her mouth as he gingerly stroked a finger along her dripping lower lips.  
“Mmmmhhh...” Sherlock moaned in to his mouth.  
Her noises of encouragement gave him the confidence to push his finger up inside her entrance.  
“Oh!” She gasped at the new feeling, and clawed at his shoulders.  
“You ok?” John asked in concern, cautiously pulling his finger out.  
“Yes, yes. Do it again. Don’t you dare stop this time.” She groaned as she pulled him back down to her.  
John pressed his finger back in to her dripping, wet heat, and slowly began to pump his finger in and out.  
“Oh gah- mmmm!” Sherlock moaned, arching her back in to his touch.  
It was good, weird, but good.  
Mostly, she was in bliss because it was John who was touching her.  
It was John who was making her feel good.  
“More! More!” She cried, her toes curling, fully aware that she had repeated that word numerous times that night.  
John obeyed happily, and pushed another finger inside.  
“Thats good.”  
“That’s good?”  
“Yes, it’s very- ah! Very good!” Sherlock yelped as John pulled out only to push three fingers inside.  
“Yes, yes, yes!”  
That was when John stopped entirely. He wanted the first time he saw her come apart to be when he was inside her.  
He felt his length throbbing at the thought.  
“Why’d you stop?” The brunette panted, raising her head to shoot him a glare.  
John licked his lips before pressing them back to hers.  
“Because... what happens next... will be even better.”  
“Oh...” Sherlock cooed happily as John began trailing kisses down her collar bone.  
“Ummm... Do you have a diaphragm?” The blond asked, his voice husky, knowing full well the odds of which were very unlikely.  
“No. I... I’ll sort something out tomorrow, don’t worry.”  
John pulled back for a moment looking somewhat unconvinced.  
“John, I’m a virgin. I’m clean.”  
“I know, as am I. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t want to get you pregnant.”  
Sherlock chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want that either.  
“I’ll get a douche or something. They sell them at the pharmacy. And you can pull out, ok?”  
“Ok. If um... if anything happens... I’ll be there for you, you know that right?”  
John was regarding her affectionately, a soft, loving smile playing on his lips.  
“I know.”  
They had both been given very basic sex education their biology class, but that started with a talk on what periods were, and ended with being told not to have sex. Sherlock had overheard gossip in school, and looked in to the medical side of things from a scientific interest. John on the other hand had practically been strong armed in to listening to locker room talk, or trench talk...  
She pressed their lips back together, and wrapped her arms round his neck.  
“I love you.”  
“I love you too.”  
They gazed in to each other’s eyes for a moment, the tension between them skyrocketing.  
Sherlock leant up on her elbows, pressed her lips to johns ears, and whispered:  
“Make love to me.”  
John shuddered and bit his lip. He cleared his thoughts after a moment, and turned his attention back to the beautiful girl beneath him, her dark hair spread about the covers, her cheeks flushed, lips bruised and full.  
“Mmmm...” She moaned happily as John ran his hands down her abdomen.  
“Are you sure you definitely want to?”  
“Yes, John. Are you?”  
John smiled, and lent down to kiss her lips.  
“Yes.”  
He swallowed and looked down.  
He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, his blood ringing in his ears.  
He grasped his leaking cock, and positioned himself at the apex of her legs.  
With one final deep breath, he pushed inside of her.  
She was warm, and deliciously wet, her walls enveloping him in the most intense sensation he had ever felt.  
He couldn’t help let out a low groan, his teeth clenching.  
The noise that escaped Sherlock, quite in contrast, was one of pain.  
“Oh god... sorry... are you ok?”  
Sherlock’s eyes were closed and her teeth were gritted as she nodded her head.  
“I’m fine- it’s just a bit... uncomfortable.”  
John was trying his best to focus on her, but it felt so, so good that her voice was more like an echo in the background.  
He shook his head to recenter himself, and that seemed to do the trick.  
“Do you need me to stop?” He asked softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.  
“No, it’s fine. I think if you just... keep going I’ll adjust.”  
John wasn’t convinced, the dread that he was going to hurt her both restraining him and helping to keep him grounded.  
“Are you sure?”  
“Yes, yes.”  
She shuffled about beneath him and gripped his shoulders tightly as he started to move his hips in a steady rhythm.  
John was in complete bliss, waves upon waves of pleasure hitting him with every thrust. He only wished Sherlock was enjoying it as much. As it went on, he continuously asked her if she was ok, and each question was meant with a firm, positive answer.  
“John, stop worrying. I promise, I’m fine.” She said softly, stroking his cheek.  
She could tell he was definitely enjoying himself, the crease in his brow, the way his breath hitched, the strangled groans that escaped him.  
“I don’t want you to just be fine, “ he said after a moment, stilling his hips. “I want you to enjoy this.”  
Sherlock let out a sudden squeak when she felt Johns thumb rubbing the bundle of nerves between her legs.  
“Oh god- John- mmm!”  
A grin spread across johns face at the noise, his cock throbbing pleasurably.  
“Good?”  
“Yes, god yes.”  
John attached their lips in a passionate kiss as he rubbed the bud, all the while bucking his hips in an increasingly unsteady rhythm.  
“I think I’m going to...” he began, his voice raspy and strained as he desperately chased after the intense sensation that was building in his abdomen.  
“Yeah?”  
“Mmmmhmmm...”  
Desperate to get Sherlock to reach completion too, John sped up his ministrations.  
“Oh- oh- oh!” Sherlock started, digging her nails in to his biceps.  
Without a warning, John felt the cord in his abdomen break, and with a cry of her name, he reached his climax.  
Sherlock followed after, her toes curling, her back arching as the euphoric pulsation enveloped her whole body.  
Johns arms gave out, and he fell, exhausted on to her chest.  
They both remained quiet for a minute, absolutely awestruck.  
Sherlock’s heart was pounding so hard and fast under johns cheek where his head was resting on her clavicle.  
“You ok?” Sherlock asked after a moment when she noticed how deeply john was breathing.  
“Yeah... I’m... fine...” he murmured between pants.  
Sherlock ran her fingers through his hair, damp with sweat, and gently ran her other hand down his back.  
“Are you ok?”  
“Sore... but otherwise, yes.”  
John turned his face towards her, and captured her lips in a tentative kiss.  
“I love you so much.”  
Sherlock felt a smile tugging at her lips.  
“I love you too.”  
John eventually rolled off of her, and pulled her in to his arms.  
“Thank you for this.” She said quietly, stroking his cheek.  
“Thank you. Are you sure I didn’t hurt you too much?”  
“I’m sure.”  
With a final chaste kiss, the pair settled down, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kept it a bit more clean than my other smuts just because of the era.


	49. Easter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes home for Easter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has taken a long time, but I finally have another plot!

30th of March 1918

“-simply doesn’t listen to anything I say... and neither do you. Sherlock!”   
The brunette snapped her head up and returned her attention to her sister, who met her eyes in a steely glare.   
“What?”  
“Lucy. She doesn’t listen to anything I tell her.”  
“She’s of that age, dear.”   
Mrs Holmes breezed in to the conservatory with a squeeze to Mycroft shoulder.   
“Just be grateful there’s only one of her. Not only did I have to deal with you fighting with me, but fighting with this one as well.” Their mother chided, gently running her hand over her youngest daughter’s hand.  
“How’s her father, anyway?”  
Mycroft faltered for a moment whilst she scanned the garden for her daughter.  
“Alive.”  
She pulled her lips in to a sad smile, then turned to regard Sherlock.   
“John’s still having his night terrors.” She stated as she ran her eyes over her younger sister.  
“War will never leave him.” Mrs Holmes said thoughtfully after a moment. “But as long as you don’t either, he’ll be fine.”   
She smiled at both daughters, then went back inside.   
“Well,” Mycroft began. “Looking forward to the Easter parade?”  
“What kind of a question is that?”   
“Fair enough.”  
Mycroft’s lips curled upwards for a moment before she caught sight of Lucy out of the corner of her eye, and the smile became a frown of irritants.  
“Lucy, put that down!” She called to the toddler currently attempting to lift one of the patio chairs.   
The girl frowned at her mother, but obeyed none the less before stomping off indoors.   
“Word of advice; don’t have children.”   
Sherlock felt her heart drop in to her stomach at the word.   
Connections sparked in her head as she added up her symptoms.   
“Are you alright?”   
She inhaled a shaky breath and turned back to her sister.   
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”  
She was anything but.   
She felt as though their was a rock in the pit of her abdomen.   
A rock would have been preferable to what may actually be residing there.   
The pair returned to the house after finishing their tea, Sherlock’s wobbly legs struggling to keep her up.   
“Are you alright dear?” Mrs Hudson asked, crossing the room to rub Sherlock’s shoulder.   
“Would you like some sandwiches?”  
Just the notion of food had the brunette running for the bathroom and throwing up the contents of her stomach.   
She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, so her stomach was empty, leaving nothing but acid to lick up her throat.   
She wasn’t surprised when she found Mrs Hudson awkwardly loitering just outside the door.   
“Don’t tell.”


End file.
